


Workplace Ethics

by herdemonlover



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Breathplay, Dirty Talk, F/M, Face-Sitting, Gangbang, Hallucinations, Humiliation, Interrogation, Mindfuck, Rope Bondage, Sensory Deprivation, Sexual Experimentation, Shibari, Strip Poker, Vibrators, basically a normal Friday night, ceiling sex, fireplay, hatefucking, primal fucking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2019-07-14 01:25:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16030133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herdemonlover/pseuds/herdemonlover
Summary: You decided then and there that what the Organization really needed was a good HR department.Or: you, a recent hire at the Organization as its premiere Number Twelve, have to come to grips with a few unique characters that may or may not be scheming behind the closed doors of the Castle That Never Was. Porn with a thin plot, short chapters, second-person perspective, female lead. Kink occurs, at various levels. Join me for the ride.Pairings: You x Organization XIII (at varying levels of intimacy)





	1. New Hire

**Author's Note:**

> My first Kingdom Hearts fanfiction was written in 2006. It was the story of a blank self-insert who, throughout various escapades and well-timed Phantom of the Opera lyrics, taught the Organization (and most specifically, Zexion) to love.
> 
> Now, twelve years later, I guess I'm taking a second crack at it. 
> 
> Minus the Phantom of the Opera lyrics. 
> 
> And less love, and more... well, fucking.
> 
> Important notes: There will be non-con elements, but those will show up much later in the story, and will be much more along the lines of "non-con play" than actual non-consensual sex. There will be explicit language used throughout, so please, be cautious.

-

Becoming a Nobody is like falling asleep in the middle of a song. 

Your eyes close, listening to the gentle hum of music around you. You see life as a melody, with various movements, some happy and light, some somber and slow. You consider that your whole existence has been part of some unspoken symphony, you realize this with a crash of cymbals that is so loud, so meaningful, so filled with purpose-

And then you wake up, in absolute silence. 

All in all, a slightly disconcerting feeling. But not nearly as horrific as you would’ve expected, not from dying, at least. You had several expectations, and becoming a Nobody was meeting exactly zero of them. For the first few days after it happened, it was wandering about in your new form, back and forth across this world and the next. 

The city in which you found yourself was vast, filled with empty streets and many places to get lost, which left you plenty of time to adjust to the feeling of… not feeling. It was almost funny, realizing that you were now something (someone?) that no longer existed. The ground beneath you felt real. You, for the moment, did not. 

However, as time passed, nonexistence started to feel a lot less like haunting the old world, and a lot more like waking up in the next. After all, you were still walking and talking, similar to how you were before, but it all felt unfamiliar. Better, you might even say. There were certain perks, ones you were discovering every day… especially with the help of these new “friends” you have recently made. 

Speaking of which. 

You’re now sitting alone in a room so white, you nearly go blind from staring at the walls. The room is a small part of a castle, and the castle is a small part of the city, and the city is a small part of an entire world filled to the brim with creatures that are either with you, or against you. It was all you could do to keep yourself sitting down, patiently waiting, knowing that there were eleven other Nobodies walking around like it was their everyday life just on the other side of this wall. Hell, it was their everyday life! They all acted so casual about nonexistence, it was almost comforting. 

Like the one who'd escorted you here to the castle, for example: an older gentlemen with salt and pepper hair and a smile like a dog gone feral. He was still polite when he asked you to follow him, when he found you days ago. He had stumbled upon you in an alleyway, and he seemed to know immediately what you were. You hadn't fought his hand on your arm, pulling him behind you all the way to the large white platform that led to the castle gates; after all, what did you know? You had died, and now you looked slightly different and could summon pools of darkness under your feet that led nowhere. This man seemed to have an idea of what was happening. He was a light at the end of a very narrow tunnel. 

You’d been set up in this room almost immediately, and your new companion gave you the basics. Nobodies couldn’t feel. They didn’t have hearts. You didn’t clarify if all this was literal, but it certainly made sense, with the way you were currently (not) feeling. He let you ask questions, some of which he answered, others of which he waved away with his hand. A few minutes later, you had a much better understanding of what had happened to you. 

Then, with a wink and a promise to return, the silver fox leaves you alone. 

You’ve lost track of how long ago that was; maybe hours, maybe a day or two. Mostly you sat on the bed provided, adjusting, breathing, thinking. Taking in the sights outside your window (a rather large, heart-shaped moon was hanging just outside) and questioning your overall mental wellbeing. Is lacking a heart the same as lacking emotion? Do Nobodies come with depression by default? And, if so, do Nobodies here have access to counseling? 

Just as the questions fade away and boredom begins to creep in, salt-and-pepper shows up back at your door. He gives you a coat (black, thick, and smooth against your skin) and a rolled-up piece of paper. On it is a map of the castle, and in the middle, a bright red square. 

"Head there," he says. "The Superior's waiting for you up top.”

You stare at the map. A few staircases away, someone was waiting for you. For the first time since your new life began, you feel a sense of purpose. 

The man shoots you a look. “Chop chop. He's not a fan of lateness, kiddo."

You shoot the man a look back. You’re not a child. In fact, you’re sure that you’re older than a few of the people you had seen wandering the city streets below your window. One of them, a blonde with some sort of guitar strapped to his back, seemed freshly legal.

The man catches your reaction and smirks. “What’s with all the new recruits giving me death glares lately? Heh.” He turns as if he’s about to walk away, but you aren’t leaving it at that.

“Can you tell me what your Superior wants from me?” you ask him. “Or what his name is?”

The man shoots you a smile before he sidesteps out the door. Later, you’ll figure out that Nobodies, as a whole, have a hard-on for being cryptic. But for now, you sigh, pocket the map, and hope that whoever this Superior is, he has to be better at giving answers than your first acquaintance in this place. Maybe he would be friendly. After all, managing Nobodies must take someone with a warm disposition, to deal with all that existential angst. 

(Oh, how wrong you were.)

-

"This is your new name."

The letters in front of you flash gold, sparkling against the dark sky. Something about that seems... melodramatic, you’d say. It’s only the letters of your own name scrambled around, with an X thrown in for good measure. But it’s a new name, for a new you. You say it a few times, getting used to the feeling of it on your tongue. It’s not bad.

The man in front of you, a tall, imposing figure, seems pleased with the name he’s created. He dispels the letters with a wave of his hand before turning his gaze to you. His eyes seem to glow like embers that were recently fanned, and their intensity makes you nervous. You look down to the floor to avoid them. He is the Superior, you suppose. He obviously relies on some authority to run this place.

You have so many questions to ask, but the Superior’s presence itself seems to tamp down your ability to ask them. He has given you a new name. He has told you (vaguely) what you’ll be doing here, should you choose to stay in the Organization’s company. You are aware it will be dangerous. You are also aware that it is dangerous to ask too many questions, which is why you instead choose to remain silent. 

He asks what you are able to do so far. 

“This?” you say in response. Your hand goes dark, and some darkness swirls around it. You can reach in, move your arm around a bit. It’s not quite big enough for much else. A pocket of darkness, if you will, that you can summon at will.

He approaches you, silver hair flowing almost as if it belongs in a different gravity. He slips a hand into the darkness beside yours, stretching to see how deep it reaches. You can feel him pressing on some invisible barrier, something that you’ve created, and suddenly he’s deepening the recess, darkness flowing out of his own arm and into the void-

"Are you willing to work hard to develop these powers?" he asks. He says it right in your ear, and the deepness of his voice sends a chill down your spine. You feel the pocket expand in a rush at his words.

“I…” you say, pausing, thinking for a moment, before committing, “I, yes. I think I’m willing.” 

The answer seems to satisfy him. Wordlessly he lifts his free hand and rests it on your cheek, lifting your chin so his eyes can meet yours directly. The gaze is steady, but distant, even though he is so close. He is searching for something you can’t recognize. You swear his pupils are almost spirals, and then you remember that spirals are used to hypnotize. 

This is… kind of hot, something in your mind says. 

In a flash, you spring back as a heavy shudder of fear runs through your body, down your arm, and into the black. Something is gleaming in your hand, something that wasn’t there before, pulled from the pocket you’d created. It’s a weapon. At least, you think it is. You don’t quite have the words to describe it yet, but you will. The sight of it makes his eyes narrow, almost as if you’ve done something you shouldn’t.

“Yes…” he says quietly, pulling his hand back. “It seems like we’ll be seeing some interesting things from you.”

He steps backwards into a portal of his own. The darkness spins around him in vines, and he vanishes before you can breathe. The weapon in your hand sparks, crackles, and vanishes alongside him, the dissipating shadows beneath it the only sign it was even there. You’re left shivering, your own hand on your chest, plying for a beat, but only finding stillness. It’s now that you begin to understand that being a Nobody does not negate feelings, but rather proof of them. 

(You also realize you may have a crush on your new boss. But that’s an issue for another time.)

-


	2. New Employee Training (You/Xigbar)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I could rename this story, I’d probably go for “The Consequences of Fucking Xigbar.” 
> 
> Let’s go!

-

Your first mission is a success, but only just so. 

It should've been an easy one, really; kill a few Heartless that were pushing too far up the path to the castle, try to make a small dent in their ever-growing numbers. You are taking to your new powers with ease, and with a few lesser Nobodies on your side, there is little the nasties could do to withstand your combined efforts. 

You weren't expecting the exhaustion, though, that came from combat. Holding a weapon is hard, as anyone who has done so will readily tell you. You were stronger than before, but much quicker to overexert yourself. Nobodies, you imagined, were like extinction bursts. Powerful in small, explosive quantities. 

Later, after the bloodshed has ended, you stagger through the halls of the Castle that Never Was, thighs burning from an hour of leaping from foe to foe, arms sore from the weight of the weapon in your hands. It's a new feeling, not entirely unwelcome, but definitely not pleasant. A job well done. Damn, it hurts. You deserve a massage after this, you think to yourself, as you feel your legs shake beneath you.

You make it halfway down the hallway before your knees give out. Gravity takes over instantly. But just as you are about to fall flat on your face, a snap of fingers rings out behind you. 

Snap. In a jerk, you feel your entire body become weightless. Almost all at once, the pressure releases from your legs, leaving you finally with some sweet relief from their constant ache. It feels... pretty nice, actually, though you're unsure what's causing it. Maybe the place had different gravity at certain times of the day? There were weirder things. 

The sound of laughter interrupts your thoughts. You turn your head and see the man with the salt and pepper hair, leaning on a nearby doorframe. He smiles, and you notice once again how sharp his teeth are. Is that a Nobody thing, or was he always like this? 

"Looks like you were struggling to even make it to your room, kiddo," he says, nonchalant. 

"I'm not a child," you respond, slightly cold. This is not a mistake you want him to keep making. 

He looks you up and down, eyes lingering on the parts that were most definitely not childlike. His golden eye seems to shine, though you’re not sure with what. 

"Guess not," he replies. With another snap of his fingers, you crash into the ground in a heap. 

Fuck, you hiss under your breath. The moment of relief had felt too good. Now it just feels like everything is being pushed downwards, your own weight pulling your muscles too taut, your skin stretching out all the little nicks and bruises. The battle was harder on you than you realized, and that brief little respite had made it all the more obvious you weren't making it back to your room without some help. 

You lift your head with your aching neck and look accusatorially at him. 

"All you have to do is ask, sweetheart." His smile is predatory. You don’t want to trust it. But it seems like the offer itself is genuine. If a little dickish. 

You screw up your eyes and take the hit to the ego with grace. "Do that thing again. Please."

A rush of relief comes over you as your feet lift slightly off the ground once more. Your joints lose their tension, and you are able to think clearly. Before you can stop it, you smile broadly. It’s like laughing gas, only much better; you can think clearly again, aside from the slight headache that remains. 

He walks over to you, his gait filled with a weightless swagger that makes a lot more sense, really, now that you know what he can do. "Neat, isn't it? People wonder why I walk on the ceiling all the time. It just feels good."

"...you can walk on the ceiling?" That’s a funny mental image.

As if in response, the man steps backwards. Then, with a quick flash, he flips his entire body upside down, almost as if he is swinging from some invisible axis that runs straight through his chest. He hangs for a moment, and suddenly his body drifts up towards the ceiling, feet settling on the white stone above you. His hair hangs down in a thin grey line, long enough to nearly brush your forehead from where you float beneath. 

"Oughta try it some time," he suggests. "You might like it."

The man is becoming strangely charming. You hope it's not just the anti-gravity talking.

"Anything else you can do?" you ask. "Stop time? Reorder space?" You wince as another throb goes through your temple, the only part of you unaffected from this new therapy. "Get rid of this nasty headache?"

"Sleeping it off might do the trick. Or... other activities. Have been known to, you know." He winks. Or he blinks. You're pretty sure it's the former. 

“Was that your attempt to hit on me?” In spite of yourself, your face flushes. Just a bit. He notices it, and his grin widens. You don’t even know why you’re asking him. Of course he’s propositioning you. This day is already weird, what’s this added to it? You’re high on anti-gravity, there’s a silver fox asking to bang you, you’ve just killed a few hundred monsters and the adrenaline is going to kill you-

"Oh, it totally was,” his voice cuts through your thoughts, “and if you’re interested, there are better places than a hallway to get to work on it." He floats back down, righting himself in mid-air and holding out a gloved hand. "You in?"

His eye seems to glow, even though you know it's just your imagination (or the headache, pulsing behind your eyes). You hesitate, but the feeling of euphoria is still rushing through your body. And Christ, if this feeling could last forever, you would plaster yourself to his side. Morals be damned. 

Plus, in terms of headache cures, he was probably the sexiest. 

You take his hand. 

-

For a moment it feels like you're being ripped through space itself. Something liquid yet solid morphs around you, pulls you through its inky sinews, slides over your skin- then you're blinking up at the ceiling, in a room that looks fairly similar to your own. Only it seems like it's much farther away than you expected, and the ceiling is covered in furniture, and...

A moment passes. You realize you are actually blinking down at the floor. 

Before you can help it, your (non)heart leaps into your throat. Your hand shoots out, grabbing the man by the scruff of his robes, holding on for dear life. “What the fuck.”

He laughs. "Relax, relax. I've got you." 

He wraps an arm around your waist. There's no pressure as if you're hanging off of him; instead you're just floating, bodies barely touching, as if you're sitting in a dream. After a moment, you get used to it. Your hair might be falling at a weird angle, and the tassels on your cloak might be bumping against your face, but in exchange for the euphoria of being weightless, those two things are nothing. 

You look at him. He looks at you. There's a moment where you feel unsure. 

"So. Sex with you cures headaches?" you ask. You try your best to arch an eyebrow. 

The man grins, exhaling sharply. You smell something coming off him, something that vaguely reminds you of fireworks, of gunpowder. Something inherently dangerous. You question your sanity for the second time this minute. Are you going to make it a habit of lusting after dangerous men?

But then he leans in, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You tense, but only feel the warmth as he kisses you right under your jaw, a sudden burst of wet heat. Oh.

"Well, if you want to see if it works…"

His fingers are deft in finding the zipper of your cloak and dragging it down. There's no weight of it on your shoulders to keep it on; instead it falls right off your body, fluttering down to the floor beneath you. You relish the look in his eyes when he glances down and realizes you're absolutely naked. 

"What?" you ask innocently. "My old clothes were rags. And I can't be the only one going commando around here. These things are too hot to fight in."

"I'm liking you more, like, exponentially, sweetheart." He shrugs off his own cloak off his shoulders, revealing a toned chest with scars running every which way across his skin. He's obviously been in this business for a while, both by the state of his muscles and the history those scars could probably tell. You run your fingertips across them, feeling their raised edges, and give him a curious look. 

"You'll get a few of these if you stay with us," he says, straight faced. "That's a promise."

You respond by pushing the cloak the rest of the way off. It hits the ground with a muffled thump. 

There's a moment when you realize that you're naked with a near-stranger on the ceiling of his bedroom. A freeze-frame ready to become a memory. The absurdity of it almost makes you believe you’re about to wake up from whatever dream becoming a Nobody was. Is. There’s no way that you’d be feeling this calm if this was reality. 

But then he reaches out, and one hand slips around your neck and the other between your legs with no hesitation, and you realize that there’s a lot of things a Nobody can still feel. 

He doesn't seem like a patient man. Your gasps fill the room as his leather gloves drag across your bare skin, pulsing rapidly at the sensitive spot between your legs. It's less teasing, more systematic, as if he knows what he's good at and wants to deliver it as fast as possible. Soon he’s hearing little sounds that you can’t hold back as he works you open, one finger slipping inside you, pumping in and out as such a high speed-

"Yeah, that's my trigger finger," he whispers in your ear, cutting through your moans. “You like it?”

Fuck. 

With a jerk, he spins you effortlessly, pushing you above him, towards the ceiling. Your knees hit the hard white marble, and suddenly there is weight- as if he is on top of you, as if he’s pressing you hard into the surface, holding you down beneath him. Gravity shifts, but his fingers aren’t stopping; they’re pumping in and out of you, rough, heedless of any attempts you make to buck away. Between the ceiling and him, there’s nowhere for you to go, only enough space to lean forward and take it. 

“Want me to be more sweet?” he asks. “I can be more sweet.”

You’re post-verbal. You just shake your head, push yourself further down onto his fingers, and hope he gets the message. 

“Fuck. That’s perfect.” He winds his free hand through your hair, gathers it up in his palm, and pulls, hard. Your back arches, your hips snapping backwards until you feel exactly what you’re about to get, pushing up against your thigh. Your legs nearly shake with anticipation. 

“You’re being such a good girl,” he says, adjusting his hips so that he’s dragging himself against your entrance. 

Those words shoot straight from your brain to the heat between your legs. You push back, grinding against the thick shaft you can’t see, but can definitely feel. He’s thick enough to make you bite your lip, imagining how it’s going to feel once it’s finally inside-

And before you can prepare, suddenly you feel it begin to press forward, just a little, like he’s lining up his shot-

“I’m Xigbar, by the way,” says his voice in your ear. “Let me hear you scream it, okay?”

Before you can brace yourself, he thrusts his cock inside you. 

A groan rips from your throat, your cheek now pressed hard against the marble beneath, feeling him stretching you open in a way that feels utterly too much, and yet just enough at the same time. Before you can adjust, he’s already pulling and pushing back in again, inching your knees forward, the force of him slamming into you stronger than the force of him holding you both in the air. 

He gives you a few more slow, deep thrusts before he starts fucking you for real. The pace he sets is brutal. You feel like you couldn’t catch your breath for longer than a second, because every time you think you’ve managed to find an angle that gave you a brief moment of reprieve he would shift, find a way to fuck deeper into you, find a way to keep you spread open and willing for every inch he gives you-

And somehow, despite his hips jackhammering away, he manages to slip his hand back around, pulsing at your clit, perfectly in time with his thrusts- 

“Xig… Xig…” -what the fuck was the second part of his name, you don’t care, all that you can think of is the sudden crash of pleasure that comes over you in waves, you clenching around him as he pistons into you rides rode you through an orgasm that you swear feels like an electric shock. 

His breathing grows more ragged, and words begin spilling out of his mouth, “Fuck, sweetheart, I’m gonna follow you, just one second, fuck-,” and suddenly you feel his weight, as if you were being pulled away from the ceiling, and you slip a few inches into space as he pulls out and you feel a warm gush on your lower back that quickly begins dripping down, dripping to the ground, and your body starts to follow-

“Oh my god, I swear to god, Xigbar, if we’re about to fall-,”

-were the last words out of your mouth before you both fall, a nearly fifteen foot drop, onto the bed below you. 

-

“FUCK.”

“fck” came a muffled voice beneath you.

You now had an extra ache to add to the rest of your problems. Untangling Xigbar’s naked body from yours, you rolled onto the free side of the mattress, examining the litany of marks that now stretched from your arms to the insides of your thigh. You swear you could see the outline of his handprint there, but with your head still swimming from the post-orgasm high, you couldn’t be sure. 

“Bullseye.” 

You look over at him. “What?”

“You have, like, a huge bruise right above your ass. I hit it. Square on.”

“I swear to-,” you screw up your eyes, and suddenly a wave of pain hits you right behind your temples. You grab a pillow and throw it over your face, attempting to block out the light. “And I still have a headache, you liar, you jackass.”

“I just got laid, sweetheart.” He pulled his arms behind his head, his single eye shut and his mouth pulled into that insufferable grin. “You can call me whatever you like.”

You wonder if this is what life in the Organization will be like for you. You wonder if this is the standard you want to set for yourself in your first week of employment. You wonder if you want Xigbar to get away with this, and you quickly and firmly decide that no, you really don’t. 

So you turn on your side and hit Xigbar with the pillow, hard enough to knock the grin of his smarmy, scarred, (sexy) face. 

“Next time,” you say, “I’m on top.”

-

“Jeez. Was your first mission really that tough?”

The redhead in front of you looks worried. You don’t know his name yet, but you’ll figure out quickly that he’s a nice guy, if not a little too curious. He approached you right after the group meeting, where you sat with your eyes screwed up, trying to ignore the throbbing of every inch of your body for the majority of the session. It was obvious to everyone that you were in pain; less obvious, luckily, was the cause. 

“The Superior thought I could handle it,” you say through gritted teeth. “And I definitely handled it.”

Xigbar doesn’t even stifle the snort he lets out. 

The redhead looks to him, then back to you, quirks a slender eyebrow, and lets it be. You walk past Xigbar, who winks (blinks?) but keeps blissfully silent in the company of the other members. As you walk from the room, you make a silent promise to yourself that if anyone ever finds out about the truth of your first “mission”, you’ll shove them into a pocket of darkness so deep, they’ll never see the light of day again. 

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (You probably shouldn’t have done this.)


	3. Showing You The Ropes (Quasi-Xaldin/You)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author’s Note: Guess who tried suspension for the first time this weekend?)
> 
> Warning: Light non-con themes in this chapter.

-

Life in the World that Never Was could be incredibly mundane at times.

For once thing, you still had to eat. Which came with all the daily rituals of your past life; finding something, cooking something, sitting down at a table, either alone or with others, and enjoying what you'd made. The castle was well stocked for this, though you had no idea where the food came from (other worlds?). It was hard to picture any of these people going out to a market, but then again, you heard a few members talking about ice cream, so there was a little mundanity sprinkled here and there.

You pulled out a seat at a small table in the common room, setting a steaming bowl of soup in front of you. There was no one else around at the moment, and part of you was relieved; as much as you didn’t mind your new cohabitants, they could still be a little hard to talk to.

Almost as if on cue, the door to the kitchenette swung open. The figure that walked through it had to duck slightly to avoid his hair catching on the low doorframe; you looked over and recognized him as...

You then realized you didn’t know his name, so you put your spoon back in your soup and began shoveling it down your throat to avoid conversation.

Luckily it seemed like the man wasn’t interested in interacting with you either. He turned on the coffee maker (which was an odd addition to the castle, everyone there would admit) and waited with his back to you. The only view you had was of his braids, which ran down past his shoulders and reached the midway point of his spine. An interesting hairstyle, you thought. Impractical for fighting, but it definitely looked cool. Maybe he tied up his enemies with it?

“No,” the figure said curtly.

You jumped a little in your seat. Had he just... “Excuse me?”

“I don’t tie people up with my hair.” He turned on his heel, a cup hanging loosely in his gloved hand. You took in his face; his sideburns were sharp and severe, his chin was equally so, and his eyes were piercing. Everything about him seemed sharp, and possibly dangerous.

There wasn’t much you could say in return. “Oh.”

“Zexion’s not the only one with the power to read a person’s thoughts on this team, you can be sure of that,” he said. His voice could almost be described as silky; he seemed like he was trying to convince you of something, though you weren’t quite sure of what.

A loud beep: the coffee finished brewing. The man paused for a moment to fill up his mug.

“Hair is brittle and could be easily pulled out.” He took a sip, then continued. “Rope works much better when subduing a target. It’s a skill we teach, but not directly before basic training, of which you’re still in the delightful throes.”

He was right. Combat was your priority now; Xemnas had Lexaeus running you through the basics of offense and defense, which involved a lot of brute force and a lot less nuance. You weren’t about to be sent on any delicate reconnaissance missions anytime soon.

“Is rope tying even useful, with what we’re trying to do?” you asked him. “I mean, it seems like Heartless and Nobodies are ridiculously strong. Tearing through some rope would probably be nothing to most of them.”

“The point isn’t the strength of the rope,” he responded. “It’s the method in which they’re tied. When done correctly, the strongest man couldn’t move a pinky, no matter how much he struggled or tried to brute force his way out.”

That sounded suspect to you. You remembered the pure, unbridled strength you felt when pouring attacks onto those enemy Heartless. There wasn’t much that could contain that, even with all the cleverest knots in the world.

He saw the look on your face, which must have said enough. “You doubt me?”

"I think...” you began tentatively, but then that memory of strength resurged and you continued with more certainty: “I could probably fight my way out of some rope, if that’s really all it is.”

The man looks at you. His blue eyes, as bright as water, seem to flash with interest.

"Cocky thing,” he says simply. “But you’re welcome to try."

-

Two hours later, you are hanging upside down from a net of ropes that are wrapped around your chest, hips, and legs, and suddenly you realize you might have a problem saying no to people. Also, you’re taking a sharp lesson in overconfidence, and it’s a bitter one. Very, very bitter. 

"Too tight?" he asks, as he finishes the knot that keeps your left leg crooked at an angle.

You feel the knot, pulsing the muscles of your lower calf against it. "No, it's… it’s pretty good.” It was beneficial that you both had changed before getting into this little wager; tying you up in your cloak would have been a little awkward. Both of you are in black pants and black shirts, tight against your skin. You almost match, except for the fact that you were a good three feet off the ground and, you know, covered in rope.

He seems pleased with himself as he tests the strength of a few of his ties. "And can you move yourself much?"

"No," you respond. As if to show this, you twist your body as much as you can to the left and right, feeling your skin drag against the knots. He wasn’t kidding when he said it was effective. In fact, you could say you pulled a pretty hard 180 on your opinion of your ability to escape from this kind of thing; no matter how hard you pushed against the bonds, they held firm. Nobody strength could only do so much, you suppose.

“Granted,” he says, “most captives would put up more of a genuine struggle in the process. You’re at a disadvantage there. I’m Xaldin, by the way.”

You try to respond, but he hitches up the ropes just as the words were about to come out, startling you; your body swings dramatically as he pushes you away from him, dangling like a fish on a line.

“This is not the fun kind of antigravity,” you manage to squeeze out.

The hand working on the knots around your ankles pauses. “Oh. Experienced the fun kind already, have you?”

“Yes, but-,” The statement takes a moment to process, but then- fuck. You stare pointedly at the ground, but you can feel yourself blushing, and there is no way to bring your hands up to cover the evidence. “No comment.”

“Decidedly not,” Xaldin says, spinning you to face him, grinning. He bends down, eyes raking over your face to find every bit of truth in it. ”Been spending time with Xigbar, I presume?”

“He helped me...” your breathing goes heavy as you struggle to get the words out; the angle he has you contorted at makes it hard to think, much less speak clearly. “He helped me back to my room yesterday. That’s all.”

“Your room. Give us all a little more credit, won’t you?”

With a twist of his arm, there’s now a rope slipped around your neck. It’s thick, coarse, and is pulling you upwards, not tight enough to cut off your breathing, but just enough to make it difficult to drag in breath after breath. It’s uncomfortable. You suppose that’s the point. He pulses it a few times, listening to the sharp gasps you make with each tug, then hooks it in with the rest.

“I can read you, remember? And you’re putting up a poor facade in the first place.”

You look towards the door, attempting to tamp down the slight panic rising inside you. Screaming is not an option. You don’t have your hands, so summoning a portal would be useless; even if it did appear, what’s the point if you couldn’t walk through it? All you can do is struggle, push against the ropes with all your strength.

His gloved hand cups your cheek. “I can leave you here all day until you tell me the truth. You know I would.”

“Jesus,” you whisper, almost in awe, but mostly in fear, and you say “okay, yes, YES, I screwed the bastard, just let me-,”

Like silk, the rope around you waist, neck, and legs slide gracefully off of you. You hang by your arms for a moment before you realize your feet could touch the floor.

“Number two use for rope,” Xaldin says. “Excellent interrogation technique.”

He releases your arms. You fall to the floor, gasping, fingers ripping off the remaining holds from your ankles and wrists. He doesn’t help you, since they seem easy enough to undo on your own now that your hands are finally free.

“Point made,” you say shakily. “Now never speak to me again, you piece of garbage.”

“I wouldn’t have actually left you there, you know,” he says lightly, picking his cold coffee back off its spot on the dresser and taking a sip. “Where’s the fun in that? Besides, I already knew.”

You pause your untangling for a second. “...what?”

“You see, Xigbar is sort of-,” and he stops himself, shrugs, and continues with: “It really doesn’t matter. The point is, if you’re going to work for us, you might need to add a few extra layers to thicken that skin of yours. A little rope shouldn’t be enough for you to start spilling your secrets, personal or not.”

“Like I said. Point made.” The anger subsides, as does the panic. It was a lesson, if delivered in the shittiest manner possible. And you suppose you wouldn’t have been in that position had you not gotten cocky in the first place.

But still.

You hold the rope up to him. “This didn’t happen, and we’ll never talk about it again.”

He takes it, grinning. “Unlike you, I can guarantee that my lips are sealed.”

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: As I'm writing this, each chapter will be getting steadily longer. So no worries if these vignettes are a bit too short; they'll get dramatically more extensive soon. 
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and comments, they bring me joy!


	4. Qualitative Data (Quasi-Vexen/You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xigbar doesn't keep secrets well. You'll have to do something about that.

-

Your third week with the Organization has been rife with new discoveries.

First of all: you’ve realized fairly quickly that the naming convention at play here in the Organization was ridiculous.

Xemnas. Axel. Luxord. You’ve been making a habit of writing each new introduction down, asking for precise spelling, because in your opinion there was no way an X could be pronounced so many different ways without getting weird with it. With twelve other members and a lot of suspicious letter jumbling, there was only so much you could do to get them right every time.

Luckily, as time went on, the names were becoming familiar, or the sound of them at least. If someone said Xaldin, you quickly scowled. If someone said Xigbar, you blushed. A few got a cringe, such as Saix, the blue-haired man with pointy ears and an eternally sour mood no matter the time of day. You learned to recognize that one pretty quickly; the phrase “Saix is coming” quickly became synonymous with “stop having fun as quickly as possible, or else you risk getting chewed out by an elf with a stick up his ass.”

But one name made you curious. “Vexen.”

It was the only one that hadn’t been matched to a face yet, and despite your gold-star attendance at group meetings, you still weren’t sure you had ever seen him in person. For being absent, though, his name was mentioned an awful lot; “Vexen is working on...” and “Vexen is trying to...” were two of the more popular phrases around the castle, followed by an explanation of some project that you understood exactly none of. Replicas, foundations, reconnaissance, physics- it was all gibberish coming from the others, and the man himself was never around for you to ask for more.

You decided to play detective.

"Who’s Vexen?" you asked loudly. You were standing by a group of the friendlier members as they waited for their daily assignments, filed in a lazy line in front of Saix’s waiting figure.

Axel, the redhead you now recognized with ease, looked over at you in surprise. “Seriously? You don't know by now?"

You shook your head.

"Wow. Lucky you."

With that, Axel jumped back into conversation with the skinny blonde (Demyx, you think?) at his side. You were left just as curious (and slightly annoyed) that he seemed to dodge the question so easily. Maybe Vexen was the pariah of the group. Maybe he wasn’t full-time. You didn’t know specifics of the Organization’s hierarchy aside from the obvious number values, but you’d have to imagine that some were less essential cogs in the machine than others.

You decided to ask someone who seemed a little higher up in the chain. As the room emptied, you staggered a bit behind the others, grabbing the first person that seemed like they knew what they were doing around here.

“Hi, um...” Your gears spun for a moment. “Marlexa?”

“Oh, *so close*,” the gentleman said, pushing his pink hair over his shoulder and smiling down at you. “Marluxia. The X is a soft ‘shh’ sound.”

Of course it fucking was. Whatever, you’d write it down later. “Look, can you tell me if any of these people here is Vexen?” you asked, gesturing to the few remaining members in the room.

“Vexen?” Marluxia said, eyes widening. “My my. Now *that’s* an odd second choice.”

You didn’t follow. “What does that mean?”

“Sadly, he’s not present today,” Marluxia said, waving his hands towards one of the seats that hadn’t been filled during the meeting. “Never is, really. He stays in his little laboratory in the basement and rarely comes up to join us. Too busy with his experiments and all that nonsense. In fact-,”

Suddenly, Marluxia’s eyes lit up, pale blue and jewel-like. “Oh, and how wonderfully convenient for me!”

With a swish of his fingers, he had opened a portal of darkness beside him. Reaching in, he pulled out a thin, white folder, emblazoned (as almost everything was) with the Organization’s symbol on its front.

“If you’re headed there anyway, would you be a dear and give this to him? I’m afraid I’m far too busy with orders from Xemnas himself, and I’d hate to bother someone who had actual responsibilities.”

Before you had a moment to register the slight burn Marluxia had just delivered to your ego, the file was already flying in your direction; you managed to catch it just in time, but in turn, it gave him the time he needed to shift sideways through the portal and disappear from sight, a few petals swirling in his wake.

“Damn, he’s good,” Demyx commented, leaning against the wall beside you. “I wish I was that smooth when it came to ditching work.”

You sighed, looking down at the file in your hand. Well, you were the curious one. The delivery was a small price to pay for meeting the last member of the Organization that you knew of. You tucked it safely under your arm, pulled out your handy map, and made your way to the basement, wondering what mysteries lay underneath a place already as mysterious as the Castle That Never Was.

-

Your first steps into the basement told you all you needed to know about Vexen’s lair. It was badly lit and badly heated; whereas the rest of the Castle That Never Was had a slight chill over it at all times, down here it was a few degrees below freezing. The hallways were cramped and winding; it took a few twists and turns to find your way to the doorway marked with a large “IV” in black.

As you pushed open the door, a heavy smell of antiseptic hit you like a wave. It almost stung, it was so strong. Once you were able to see straight, you found yourself in a room filled with machines, slabs, beakers- everything a mad scientist with a highly funded budget would love to have. You’re not sure why this surprises you; Marluxia did make it clear that Vexen had a lab. You suppose you didn’t think it would be taken so literally.

In the corner, hunched over a whirring black box, was a thin, blonde man. His fingers were weaving through glass vials, picking out a few that seemed to bubble in the dim light, and pouring them into the various valves of the machine beneath. He seemed completely absorbed in this task; the door shutting behind you obviously hadn’t caught his attention.

You cleared your throat, a little louder than usual.

He didn’t look up from his work as he responded. “Of all the Organization members to fuck first, you definitely picked the least subtle.”

You almost let the file drop to the floor. Almost.

“Excuse me?” you said. You were hoping the shitty insulation down here made it hard for you to hear, because you could’ve sworn-

Vexen scoffed and waved his hand dismissively. “You think he hasn’t told all of us the story? Some of us have heard it twice. Thank heavens he doesn’t have Luxord’s powers, or he’d rewind time as much as he pleased to tell it to us for the first time over and over again.”

He turned, pulling off the goggles on his head as he looked sharply at you. “Xigbar. You. Inappropriate workplace relations, some would say.”

You decided then and there that what the Organization really needed was a good HR department.

“That was private, although now I’m starting to realize it was only private on my end.” You sighed. It made sense. You were finally cognizant of why you’d been receiving looks and odd comments this past week. Maybe Xaldin wasn’t a good face-reader at all; maybe Xigbar had just run his mouth so loudly that everyone could’ve wrung you for a secret.

Maybe you could tie Xigbar up and beat the shit out of him for it later. Maybe Xaldin could wingman. But you digress.

“I’m just here to give you this.” You tossed the file onto a nearby table. Vexen’s eyes followed it as it slid across the marble surface, then he quickly turned them back to you.

“I’m sorry if I offended you,” he said, everything in his voice stating otherwise. “In fact, I’d almost encourage the principle of it. As you seem to be a bit more...” (and here he coughed, but in a way that seemed theatrically fake) “*open-minded* than most of our colleagues, I’d love to test a few of my experiments that I’ve been reserving for such a willing candidate.”

“Experiments?” you questioned. The lab around you certainly seemed the place for such things.

“Nothing serious, of course. A few libido tests, reactions to physical stimuli. Nothing that involved getting my hands dirty, in both the literal and figurative sense.”

“Why.”

“Have you any idea of the value a few studies on sexuality in Nobodies could yield for our Organization?”

You really couldn’t.

“It could be a breakthrough,” he said, and was that the slightest hint of fervor creeping into his voice? “Imagine, even, if it connects to the source of our powers? Or if we can somehow weaponize it like we do our innate abilities?”

Sex powers. He was talking about figuring out Nobody sex powers.

“I... might have to pass on this one.” You turned on your heel and began walking back to the entrance of the lab, reminding yourself that next time people tell you to avoid the basement, you’d do just that and then some.

“Wait!” Vexen called out. “I’m not asking for charity. There’s something I can offer in return.”

Just as your fingers wrapped around the doorknob, you hesitated.

He was a Nobody scientist, after all. What kind of weird shit could he have figured out already? Maybe something to make you stronger. Maybe something that no one else had,  
because obviously, people avoided this man for a reason.

You turned your head over your shoulder. “What are you offering, exactly?”

Vexen leaned over to his desk and pulled a thin, glittering green vial off its nearby rack, one of the few he hadn’t been messing with when you’d entered. Inside you could see what looked like a cloud of silver shimmer swirling in the liquid. If you hadn’t known better, you would’ve thought it was nail polish.

“This is a pheromone-based potion boosted with a cocktail of various amphetamines,” he said. “In it’s very infant stages of testing, of course. What it hopefully will do is, upon ingestion, create an unbridled, lust-like effect, combined with slight mania. A sort of chemical aphrodisiac that will drive someone mad for need of physical release. If it works as planned, it will make the subject beg for it, almost pathetically, no matter where or with whom they are.”

“But why would I want...”

Then the image of Xigbar’s smug face rose to the top of your mind, and the brilliance of the idea revealed itself.

“Imagine,” Vexen said slyly, “having him crawling at your knees at the latest group meeting, begging to have you or any other member as if his very non-existence depended on it. Imagine the total humiliation and comeuppance-,”

The vial was out of his hands and slipped into your pocket a second later. Vexen, sans words, just smiled.

So you were doing this. Sure. You had signed up for another experience that you’ll probably rather forget. You had no idea if you were escaping the basement with your dignity intact, in least in the scientist’s eyes. But at least you knew you were doing it for a very, very good reason: to annihilate your coworker and his big, fat mouth. 

Because even without your emotions, couldn’t a Nobody still enjoy the feeling of good old fashioned revenge?

-

The seat of the chair beneath you is freezing. You should have probably expected this, since you were about to be experimented on in an evil basement laboratory.  
Gritting your teeth, you wish that you were wearing more than just your underwear. If you were going to be given magical sex powers, you’d prefer to get them under some blankets. But no, the scientist had insisted that clothes would impede the experiment; thus your coat was shrugged off, leaving you to fight the chills that ran up and down your legs as you sat in the marble chair. Straps had been loosely wrapped around your arms and legs; there was wiggle room, but only a little. 

Vexen is placing small wires attached to thin plastic stickers all over your body, almost to the point where they make a polka-dot pattern across your skin. Each one came with a small prick as they were attached, the small needles not enough to cause any significant pain, but enough to put you on edge.

“Neuro-sensors,” he explains when he notices your nervous glances down at the patches. “Rudimentary, but they do their job. They’ll read every spike in neurological activity, as well as your heart rate and sweat glands.”

That doesn’t sound very sexy. You are beginning to wonder if this whole thing was a set up to a joke. Maybe Vexen liked extensive medical role play, and Marluxia had offered you up in some very complicated plot to get a coworker laid. As soon as that thought flies through your head, Vexen finishes patting down the last of the neuro-sensors. He tugs on a few of the wires that connect them to a nearby machine, testing their tautness. A few more fiddling motions over the monitor later, and he looks up at you with a steady gaze.

“I won’t bother asking if you’re ready,” he says, and presses a button.

The chair lurches. A whirring sound as it leans backward, allowing you to rest comfortably in a more reclined position. But then, a sudden feeling of something moving beneath you-

You quickly glance down and see a large metal ball, sitting neatly in the space between your knees.

“That is not going inside me,” you state flatly.

“Really,” Vexen says dryly, throwing a few more switches. “I would’ve pegged you as more ambitious.”

Before you can protest, the ball clicks a few times, repositioning so that it’s just between your legs, not angled in a way as to suddenly thrust inside you.

“Don’t worry,” he states, eyes on the machine controls and the clipboard sitting in front of him. “You have your undergarments on for a reason. We’re not getting too ambitious tonight.”

There’s a few more moments of beeping from the monitor. Vexen is writing things down furiously, eyes flicking from the screen to his clipboard and back again. You feel and hear your heart rate slow down in the interim, and you begin to wonder if this will be it, just sitting here in your underwear, waiting for sudden sex powers-

Then the ball between your legs slowly begins to vibrate.

It was no more than a light tickle at first, but even then, your entire body almost seizes up at the feeling. The ball is nudging deeper between your legs, pressing closely against your entrance, but not hard enough to really cause you any discomfort. In fact, it’s really nice- almost too nice, pleasant even, just a gentle thrum against your core that sends a warm, pleasant feeling into you. 

“This… isn’t too bad,” you whisper, taking a deep breath which quickly turns into a halting gasp- because the thrumming isn’t stopping, and this isn’t like a vibrator where you can pull away when it feels too intense, no, this is a steady stream of pleasure that is right up against your clit. It’s unrelenting, and while it’s not overwhelming yet…

The thrums continue, minute after minute, just you and the gentle rumble between your legs. You do your best to stay focused and still, but soon, it’s a difficult task. The head is just a *little* too low, and it’s just a *little* too gentle on you. You try to shimmy downwards, but the straps around your arms and legs don’t give you that much purchase; instead, you try to open your legs wider, angle your hips further down- but no, it’s not the angle, it’s just so light and not hard enough-

Fuck, fuck- “can you,” fuck “turn this thing up at all?”

You can’t hear if he replies; all you hear is a beep, and a sudden loud whir that overtakes the room as the ball begins to rumble at a higher velocity, finally reaching that feeling you’ve been chasing for what feels like hours- it’s not subtle, it’s fucking vicious, suddenly rattling against you in a back-and-forth motion that leaves you speechless, yet desperate, grinding hard onto the ball to get every last inch of movement from it-

Wait. Your fingertips, maybe a hint of something black at your palm-

No, these aren’t sex powers, this is just whatever you already had pouring out of you, the same feeling you chased with Xigbar, an orgasm that was threatening to rip you out of this chair, rip you out of your body, maybe-

And when you feel it creeping up on you, as it happens, you let out a surprised shout, and there’s a sudden burst of ENERGY as you clench up, waves, over and over, feeling it ripple through your body as you come in time with the pulses he's sending between your legs-

A beep rings out; Vexen had pressed the button on his stop watch.

With a high-pitched whine, the machine stops whirring, leaving you twitching with the aftershocks that you didn’t expect to overtake you so quickly. The neuro-sensors are quickly pulled out by his steady hands, one by one, and as each one is removed you feel your heart rate begin to slow done to a normal pulse. 

“Four minutes and thirty three seconds,” he says. “A fair run. Slightly below average, but you’re probably used to such activities.”

“Shut...” You’re having trouble catching your breath enough to gather up a retort. 

“In all seriousness, there were some interesting spikes in neurological activity towards the final moments, beyond what I expected,” Vexen says. “You may have been skeptical at first, but even an amateur like you can acknowledge that there is enough clout in my hypothesis to point to a significant result that may unlock further potential powers.” 

He hands you your coat, and the smug look on his face returns. “Could I get you to agree to a few more rounds of testing?”

Your take a deep breath. “That might require a better offer.”

“What do you want?” Vexen asks, turning back to his shelves. “Strength potions? A few healing draughts? Another love potion, in case someone else strikes your fancy?”

You shake your head, pulling your coat on over your chilly shoulders. 

“A copy of the key to to this place.” You pat your pocket, ensuring that the vial is exactly where you left it. In a few steps you’re out of the lab, but before you go, you add: “Or, better yet, build me one of those things in *my* room.”

You swing the door shut behind you, and you swear you can still hear the chilly bastard chuckling to himself behind it. 

-

It’s morning in the World That Never Was.

“We’ve all gathered.” Xemnas’s voice, low and rumbling, filtered down from his seat high above the meeting room.

Five.

“Saix, if you wish, you may begin.”

Four.

“I’d like to discuss the recent influx of Heartless at Hollow Bastion...“

Three.

“-our slacking has led to their growing numbers, and too many shall be detrimental to our original plan-“

Two.

A portal appeared behind Xigbar, too small for him to notice, just wide enough to slip a hand holding a bright green vial into the space beside him, where its contents were upended onto his lap with a quick, silent jerk.

“-come on, we’re Nobodies, we should have better control over ourselves than this-“

One.

-

 

[THE FOLLOWING INCIDENT HAS BEEN REDACTED FROM ALL CASUAL DOCUMENTS. NO FURTHER INFORMATION CAN BE GIVEN. PLEASE SEE INCIDENT REPORT #281 FOR FURTHER DETAILS.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone who's reading, you're giving me life in this terrible wait for the new game!
> 
> This is the last of the "vignette" kind of sex chapter. Uh, hope that's okay. Love y'all, have a good one.


	5. Incident Report (You/Zexion)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your stunt with Xigbar has consequences, but not necessarily the ones you expect.

-

 _Incident Report #281_  
  
During our latest meeting to discuss the progress made in infiltrating Hollow Bastion, an incident occurred that involved personal matters between two of our members, one old, one new...  
  
“It’s okay,” Demyx said, peeking over your shoulder. “Incident reports suck, but they’re not the end of the world. I got about six in my first month, and look, I’m still here!”  
  
You wondered if this made Demyx the exception, or the rule.  
  
It had been a few hours since the fateful meeting. A few hours since seeing a few glorious sights in sequence: Xigbar’s hilarious squirming at your feet, Vexen’s triumphant whooping of “It works! It works! I told you all, it works!” and the slight widening of Xemnas’s eyes that showed more emotion than you had ever seen on his usually stoic face. All semblance of the Organization being a place of serious plotting and profound evil-doing vanished in that single, beautiful moment. And while it probably didn’t put you on the Organization’s most well-behaved list of employees, it had been worth it.

So, so, SO worth it.  
  
Demyx leaned over your shoulder again, flipping the report to its last page. His blonde hair was drooping a bit, a noticeable quirk in the evenings after he’d been running his fingers through it all day. “Most of the stuff on the report doesn’t matter. They just tell you to not do whatever you did again, and they threaten to kick you out if you do. Honestly,” and he looked up at you, blue eyes gleaming with a little mischief, “they’ve never done that since I’ve been here. So, uh, take that as you will.”

That makes you chuckle. The honesty is a nice touch, but also knowing that you won’t be sacked for the whole Xigbar fiasco is comforting, too. You had no idea how precarious the employment here could be, and seeing as you hadn’t found any other organizations hiring Nobodies with little to no due process, you wanted keep your position here for the time being. Just in case.

While you were thinking, Demyx had continued speaking. You tuned in just in time to hear him say: “Just go ahead and sign at the bottom, date it, and pick Zexion.”  
  
Your pen hit the paper before you processed the last bit of what had been said. “Pick- wait, pick Zexion for what?”  
  
“At the bottom.” Demyx motions to the lower half of the page, where a few blank signature lines ended the report. “It tells you to ask an older member to give you advice on how to stop screwing up. Trust me, pick Zexion.”  
  
You scanned the paper. Lo and behold, the last paragraph detailed the only action required of you: _Seek out a mentor to assist in identifying problematic behaviors and coming up with appropriate solutions_.

(You guessed this is the closest thing to an HR department that you’re getting, next to giving a Dusk a clipboard.)  
  
“Zexion? The… silver-purple-blue-haired one?” you asked, for clarity, and Demyx nodded. You had seen him a few times, mostly at group meetings, sitting in his chair with a book opened surreptitiously in his lap. You caught him sneaking a few glances at it rather than paying attention more than once, but seeing as you had never spoken before, you weren’t going to be the one to call him out on it. He gave off an air of distant, cool civility, not quite as harsh as the attitude Saix gave nearly everyone, but cool enough that you hadn’t sought him out for anything more than a cordial “good morning” and “good evening” here and there.  
  
“Why not pick you instead?” you asked Demyx. “You seem to know a lot about incident reports.”  
  
Demyx chuckled, almost sheepishly. “Yeah. Exactly.”  
  
You laughed, too, with him, rather than at him. This fella was growing on you. In fact, you’d be safe to say the entire group was growing on you, save a few special cases. There were a lot of surprises to be found in people who couldn’t feel, and characters like this definitely made the days go by faster.  
  
“Seriously, though,” Demyx said, sobering up a bit, “hanging out with Zexion is the best. He doesn’t really tell you to stop doing anything wrong. Plus he can make you do anything you want, like... flying and shit. He can make you fly.”  
  
“Xaldin can already fly,” you said, amused, but also slightly impressed. Was Zexion able to give people powers they didn’t currently possess? Or did he have some other trick up his sleeve?  
  
Shrugging, you scribbled Zexion’s name next to your own in the blank space provided. Maybe you could use a little guidance, depending on how flexible he was willing to be. And learning some new powers would be an excellent use of your rehabilitation.  
  
-  
  
_Come by tonight. Bring a mug. -Zexion_  
  
The message had been written on a thin strip of paper, slipped under your door nearly seconds after you turned in your incident report to Saix this morning. Zexion obviously meant to give you fair warning before you went out to work today. You had a mission, a short jaunt to Twilight Town with Axel to collect some magic crystals for Vexen’s research, but you knew you’d be back in time to pop in and pay your respects to your new “mentor” before the day was done.  
  
Pausing in the process of getting ready, you turned the note over a few times in your gloved hands. His handwriting looked like the kind of writing you’d find on a old scroll, maybe in a castle (how appropriate, you think to yourself), filled with loops and swishes and whorls. The paper looked equally fine; it was crisp, off-white, and embossed with a pattern of silver thorns. You wondered what world he must have picked this up from. Wonderland, maybe?

You thought about looking for yourself sometime, before remembering you’d never quite been given a salary here to spend on things like paper, and tabled the thought for later.  
  
Folding the note and placing it in your coat pocket, you made sure the mug you’d borrowed from the kitchen ages ago was spotless before you suited up, heading out for a long morning in Twilight Town.  
  
-  
  
In the field, you and Axel have a quick tussle with some Crescendos, a Heartless breed that look like tiny horns that make the most annoying sounds imaginable. Nothing that you both can’t handle, of course, but they still give you a potent headache that you carry back to the castle with you. By the time you stumble into your room, you’ve almost forgotten about your scheduled meeting with Zexion; if it wasn’t for the clean mug on your nightstand that served as a quick reminder, you would’ve passed out on your bed and missed it entirely.  
  
It was a short walk down the narrow hallway to his room, the white walls arching above your head in their usual impressive manner. The living quarters were lined up in order of membership; as such, you currently were stationed at the very far end, where Zexion’s room was slightly more towards the middle.

When you reach his door, emblazoned with its silver VI, you knock lightly on its frame.  
  
“Come in,” his voice calls from the other side. It is the loudest you have and will ever hear him speak, aside from a moment or two in battle.  
  
Pushing open the door, you see what can only be described as a miniature library spilling out from the other side. The shelves that line the walls are nearly covered floor-to-ceiling in books, with additional stacks in the corners that are loaded with tomes of all shapes and sizes. That being said, the room in-between all the books seems meticulously clean and orderly; all spaces that weren’t occupied by literature are spotless, and there is plenty of space in between the towers of paper to pace the room. There is a small shelf, a sink, a coffee table and a few chairs, spaced out neatly and with little clutter. There clearly is method to the madness in Zexion’s world.  
  
Speaking of the Devil. Zexion walks over, a steel teapot in his gloved hand, and a neutral look on his face. “Welcome,” he says levelly. “Tea?”  
  
This catches you off guard, but only for a moment. “Sure, thank you.”  
  
He takes the mug you offer him and sets it down on the table. As he fills it, a deep yellowy-pink liquid flowing from the teapot into the cup, he nods to a nearby chair. “Please sit. I have a feeling you aren’t rushing to be anywhere.”  
  
“You’d be right,” you respond. You settle down in the chair, noticing how comfortable it feels when it gives a little beneath your weight. It’s a very sink-down-and-stay-a-while kind of chair, plush in all the right places. Zexion was not the person you expected to be focusing on such creature comforts, but you’ve had wrong first impressions before.  
  
He finishes pouring the tea between your two mugs and, pushing your own towards you, sits in the seat opposite yours. He swirls the liquid beneath his nose, inhaling slowly as the steam wafts off its surface. “Tell me what you think it is,” he asks.  
  
You bring the mug up to your lips and take a sip. It’s a light, floral taste, but you don’t know enough about teas to make a solid guess. “Roses, maybe?”  
  
“Close. Chamomile.” He takes a deep drink, wipes his mouth with the corner of his sleeve, and sets his cup down in front of him. His silvery hair is pushed to the side and for the first time, you see both of his eyes, bright blue and unblinking. “It’s a natural herbal sedative. Assists in relieving migraines and promoting a healthy sleep cycle. I drink it often.”  
  
You take a few more sips. It does taste like the sort of thing that’s supposed to relax you. After a moment, you swear that maybe your head is starting to throb a little less, too.

Or maybe this is all just psychosomatic, but hey, anything that helps, helps.  
  
Zexion crosses one leg over the other, folding his hands over his knee. “So, can we take a step away from pretense and assume you have minimal interest in advice on avoiding wrongdoing?”  
  
Ah. So Demyx was right. “Why?”  
  
“Because what you did to Xigbar was hysterical. It showed a delightfully vicious sense of humor. I wouldn’t advocate changing that part of your personality, even if I should. The days here can grow very dull, and moments like those are worth the breach in conduct.”  
  
That statement (and the small smile that has now appeared on his face) has a kind of warmth to it, one you didn’t expect to find from the normally indifferent man sitting across from you. You smile back at him over your mug of tea and nod. “I’ll keep that in mind.”  
  
“I would, however, like to say that I’m at the very least curious. Hearing your motivations would be satisfying.”  
  
“For what?”  
  
“Your choice in method for revenge. Or really, I’d like to hear about the whole sordid affair to begin with. I doubt anyone has asked for your side of the story, and you deserve the chance to explain it.”  
  
You think about this for a moment. Compared to the passing glances and comments from other members, this was a pretty straightforward request. Maybe there’d be no harm in getting the perspective of another Nobody, especially one that seemed as level-headed as Zexion was currently appearing to be.  
  
You decide to answer him honestly. “I don’t think I was thinking too hard about anything. I went after something I wanted, and I’ve spent a lot of time dealing with the consequences.”  
  
“Don’t judge yourself too harshly,” he says. “You shouldn’t be ashamed, or even afraid of the consequences from getting something you want. Really, it’s the environment itself that’s being unnecessarily cruel. My fellow members are surprisingly starved for social interaction, and that leads rumors to spread more quickly.”  
  
“Starved for social interaction? It seems like you all see each other quite a lot.”  
  
“Not that kind of interaction.” Zexion clasps his hands together, fingers twisting as he thinks. “Nobodies, or more specifically those in this Organization, are not exactly known for their… intimate interpersonal relations.”  
  
“Does that mean...” You’re trying to figure out how to word your question politely, and you’re failing. Ah well. Might as well just go for it. “Does this mean no one in the Organization has tried screwing each other, at least up until this point?”  
  
“Shocking, but true,” Zexion confirms. “Our organization is young, but surprisingly sterile on that front. If anything had happened, I would’ve known. There are certain telling signs.”  
  
“Such as?”  
  
“Mostly that none of these idiots can keep their mouth shut. You’d know that, better than most.” He finishes his tea in a smooth gulp.  
  
You sigh. “True. But you obviously value your privacy. And...” You take another look at the books surrounding you. “Knowledge, for its own sake.”  
  
Zexion shrugs lightly. “Gossip does little for my reputation, though it can be useful in figuring out those of others. I have enough on my plate as it is developing my own abilities, both the mental and metaphysical. For instance.” He waves his hand. Suddenly, his mug is filled again.  
  
You blink a few times, rapidly. “Did your mug just...”  
  
“An illusion,” he says simply. He turns the cup over, and nothing pours onto the floor. However, when he rights it again, you can see a small white flower sitting at the bottom off the mug. It spins a few times, wiggles its petals, and vanishes in a puff of yellow smoke.  
  
“Tricking the eye to believe it is seeing something else,” he explains. “A simple ability, but an effective one.”  
  
“Huh,” you whisper, your eyes following the curl of smoke that lingers at the rim of the cup. “I imagine that comes in handy.”  
  
“That? Oh, that’s child’s play.” He smiles widely. “Manipulating an enemy’s vision is a valuable tool, yes, but it’s extremely useful to manipulate the other senses as well. It’s disorienting and gives you an incredible amount of leverage to control others as you please. A total takeover of all senses would be absolute control, in literally every sense.”  
  
“All senses? What would that be like?” you ask.  
  
“Either amazing, or terrifying,” he says, his hand now reaching up to cover his mouth, his smile disappearing behind the leather of his glove. “Depending on how I feel, of course.”  
  
Your arms suddenly feel a rush of goosebumps. The statement carried a sort of threat to it, the more you think about it. Did Demyx, or any of the others, ever say anything about Zexion being frightening?  
  
“But I can use it for more than an offensive approach,” he states, his fingers idly drumming on his cheek. “We can all learn about ourselves by taking that trip through our own psyches. Most people don’t have the stomach for it, but for the hardier ones, I’m always happy to be of service for a good, deep dive.”

“Like therapy?”

“Oh, a sort of therapy. It’s very unique, and hard to explain. Unless…”  
  
You blink again, and suddenly he is standing beside your chair, his robes still and showing no sign of the movement that brought him there. His hands are empty, and one of them reaches down as if to ask to shake your hand.  
  
“Do I have your consent for a quick demonstration?” he asks.  
  
Um.

“Will it hurt?”

“Not at all,” he promises. “It will only show what’s already there, nothing more, nothing less. You might even find it freeing.”

You remember Demyx’s assurances that this will be a positive experience. He doesn’t seem like the type to lie, and after all, Zexion has been nothing but honest with you, too. His candor was reassuring, almost enough to make you agree to something as batshit insane as this.

You reach out your hand, let your fingers close around his, and wait.

The scent of chamomile wafts off him in gentle waves, and suddenly you feel so relaxed, so comfortable, that the chair seems to warm underneath you, around you, until you feel like you may be sitting in a pile of sheets fresh from the laundry, soft and hot and relaxing.  
  
“Demyx said you could make people fly...” you say dreamily, the words coming out quieter than you expected.  
  
“I can do that. And more.”  
  
He is now standing behind you, fingers on your pulse, just underneath your chin. You feel the warmth of his body, too, the gentle touch of his hands beneath his gloves.  
  
“Oh, the places you’ll go...” he murmurs, stroking your hair tenderly. And you’re falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling, and—  
  
-  
  
The blackness slips around you like a pillowcase. It is smooth, silky, inviting. You imagine this would be the best place to sleep, or to dream, for as long as you wanted. You could have so many wonderful dreams in that deep pocket of darkness, far away from noise or touch. So many fantasies if your mind would let itself wander where it wishes to go...  
  
But a light blinks to life above you. A circle, growing wide and shimmering, and it quickly descends— a wave of dry heat overcomes your body— and suddenly—  
  
Your eyes snap open. Or maybe they were always open?  
  
And you are on a beach.  
  
The sand. You can feel it underneath your feet. It’s deliciously warm, and as the water pool around your ankles you can feel that the waves are warm, too, and so easy to sink into, as if they had been taking in the heat of the sun all day. There are fish splashing nearby; you can hear the echo of their slapping the surface of the water with their tails as they jump above the crest of its waves.

You want to see the fish up close. You drop to your knees, feeling the water swirl around you, pulse hard against your body. You dip your head under— and you can breathe, and you see the fish dancing underneath the waves! But the sand is there, too, wet and swirling up your legs and rubbing against your skin, the feeling of it stripping bits of you bare—

And just as suddenly as the beach had appeared—  
  
You blink.  
  
And you’re in a mouth of a cave.

It’s muggy, and there is a little light tricking in from above you, and you reach out in front of you to find something to guide you deeper into its darkness— there isn’t much to do here, except breathe in stillness, feel the squish of moss underneath your feet, tiny clusters of dark green—

—and squint to see the paintings on the wall— or are they drawings? Drawings made in chalk, chalk that smudges as your fingers pass over it, all over the walls, your wet fingers are messing them all up, and you pull away before you can smudge too many of them, feeling guilty for some odd reason now, and—

You blink.  
  
And then you’re in a place you recognize.  
  
Your room. Not the room you go back to at the end of the day after a mission, not your little square in the Castle That Never Was, but your _old_ room. The one that it feels like you’ve been away from for years. The one you used to call your own, the one that held pieces of you that you’d been collecting for years.

The one that might be lost forever, if your memory serves you.  
  
You turn to see Zexion sitting on your bed, one leg crossed over the other. He seems so out of place here, with his silvery hair and his dark leather coat. He would’ve seemed outrageous to you, many moons ago, like a character out of a comic book that had ripped his way off the pages into your world. He has a cup of tea in his hand, and it is full now, and deep, deep red in color.  
  
“Is this a good memory for you?” he asks.  
  
You turn, looking at the various things hanging from your walls, remembering how you had organized them *just so*. The hours spent buying, collecting, and creating. The memories attached to each object, the triumph of owning, of curating an identity. “It’s... nice. But part of me doesn’t want...” There is no a pit in your stomach that’s growing larger by the second. There’s too much memory here, too much of the things you don’t have anymore, just too much of... all of it.

You turn to Zexion. “I don’t want to remember this right now.”  
  
“Of course.” He dumps the cup of tea onto the floor, where the red spreads out in a large web that creeps to your feet in seconds. “Let’s find something a little more _fun_.”  
  
The walls are now red, and shiny. Like fake leather. There is a new bed, but it has dark black sheets, and on top of you is Xigbar, only his hair seems slightly longer than you remember... His eyes are filled with lust and his hands are firm on your hips, fingers pulling at your skin as he drags you up to meet him. Your heart is suddenly racing as you relive the adrenaline of this memory, the feeling of emotion that you’re not supposed to be having— and he thrusts into you from above-

Wait, no.  
  
“He was behind me,” you whisper to yourself. “And we weren’t... on a bed.”  
  
“I figured I’d make it a little more romantic,” Zexion says from beside you. He is stretched out sideways on the sheets, looking at you from the corner of his eye, half in darkness. “Are you so concerned with it all matching reality? Here, he can give you exactly what you want.”  
  
Xigbar’s hands wrap around your throat, squeezing tightly, but somehow, you can still speak. “I think I prefer reality for things like this.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
You manage to tear your eyes away from the fake Xigbar and look at him. “Look, if you’re going to do something fucked up to me during this, you could at least do it yourself.”

Zexion’s laughter is surprisingly loud. It echoes around you as Xigbar disintegrates, just fades away instantly, turning into a black dust that quickly grows and stretches across the scene around you, at least until it’s all just, just—  
  
_Blackness_. The walls dissolve so quickly you almost feel as if you have fallen through a slit in the floor, into some deeper plane that was hiding beneath the boards, and after all, isn’t this all fake? The bed has fallen with you, still beneath you in form, but now invisible, inky black, swirls of sheets that wrap around your limbs, and you can’t see Zexion anymore, either.  
  
“Where are you?” you call into the darkness. “Are you hiding now?”

And countless whispers echo from the blackness around you.

 _“Oh no, no.”_  
  
“I’m here,” his voice responds, singular, somewhere behind your ear, and you feel something kiss at your neck, a mouth sucking on the area just underneath your jaw, and when you turn your head you only see a dark shadow that dissipates into blackness before you can be sure who it—  
  
“I’m here,” says his voice below you, and suddenly you feel his tongue trailing up your thigh, the warmth spreading fast across your skin, he bites into the area just beside— and his fingers, he’s not wearing gloves anymore, you can feel his skin on yours, too—  
  
“I’m here,” says his voice, directly behind you, one of his arms wrapping around your waist, dragging your backward, pinning you to the bed beneath like a vice, and the darkness itself is pinning you as well in the form of those twisting sheets, fear and overwhelming adrenaline—  
  
“I’m here,” Zexion says, with the voices, in an infinite chorus, and you feel him laugh into you as his tongue licks slow strokes at the juncture where you thigh meets your— oh, it’s making you shudder with each pass, so close and yet aggravatingly so far.

“Want it?” the voices whisper.

You reach down and pull his soft hair between your fingers, forcing his head where you want it to go—

There are hands, but not hands, they are sheets, but not sheets—there is everything and nothing holding you down, making you take the feeling of his warm tongue running over your clit, in every direction, swirling around you in lazy circles that make your legs tense up and your jaw drop, finally, _finally_ —

Your grip on his hair slackens, but he pushes into you just as firmly, his mouth open and laving over you unabashedly as you feel the weight of the room _shift_. Suddenly the hands-or-sheets are pulling you upwards, hanging you slightly from their grip, and you feel Zexion shifting somewhere beneath you, his hair still tickling at your skin. There is no hesitation as he pushes your legs further apart, pulls you down onto him, his face right below your cunt as he continues licking and sucking, fingers digging into your thighs—the bruises he is leaving, you can only imagine—  
  
When his tongue pushes inside you, your body seizes up, and you look down because you want to see him doing it and realize that you can’t see him— you can’t see him at all, but you can feel him so strongly, that shape in the shadows, he is that and he is also the hands-or-sheets, he is everything in this room designed to center around the ecstasy you are feeling now, and that makes whatever he’s doing feel even more _wrong_ and _right_ , and that’s all you need to finally reach—  
  
The sheets, inky, black, twisting around you, smothering you, holding you up in the darkness—  
  
A sudden, brutal orgasm hits you too quickly as you open your eyes.  
  
-  
  
You’re gasping, your mug of tea a shattered pile of porcelain on the floor. Your hands are clenched on the armrests of the chair, digging into their softness, nails pushed deep enough to leave marks that probably won’t come out.  
  
“Welcome back,” Zexion says from across the table.  
  
You glance manically around you, your breathing coming out in short gasps. His room is the same as when you left it. The books still pillars that seem to hold up the ceiling. The clean surface between you.

“I didn’t... leave...?” You glance down. The chair feels warm beneath you, but not… not too warm. “I didn’t leave this chair?”  
  
“Not at all,” Zexion says, leaning back in his own. His hand is back over his mouth. You guess this means he’s hiding his smile, again.  
  
You feel your heavy breathing start to calm. The feeling between your legs is less quick to subside; your thighs are still twitching with the aftershocks, undeniable proof that you’d… you’d...  
  
“Did I just...”  
  
“I thought it was a nice finishing touch.”  
  
He stands up, walks over to his counter space, and pulls down another mug. “Luckily, I keep a few spares.”  
  
You realize with sudden clarity that your headache is entirely gone.

You also realize that even the nicest of Organization members have some side, some fucking hidden side to them that scares you. Not enough to keep you from interacting with them, but...

Zexion glances over his shoulder. “Any questions that the experience itself didn’t answer?”

You think about it, long and hard, your head rushing to solidify its thoughts in the oddly hazy afterglow that threatens to calm you down a little too much. This is an appropriate time to freak out and ask questions, you tell yourself. You just had hallucinatory sex, and it was nice, but it was also a little scary, and it means that maybe…  
  
“Please tell me,” you say, “that this entire thing hasn’t been a dream. Not what just happened, but… this entire Nobody thing. Specifically.”  
  
Halfway through beginning to pour you a new cup, Zexion pauses. He sets the teapot down, fingers drumming on its lid, _clink clink clink_ , for a moment, before he turns back to you.  
  
“There are… certain things that are hard to get right, every time,” he says. “Tastes. Smells. The feelings are easier, and the sights equally so. But it’s never a perfect image, and it’s only useful if the subject is disoriented enough to be susceptible to its effects.” He tops the cup off. “So basically, what I’m attempting to say is… you can tell when you’re in an illusion, if you know how and where to look for the signs.”  
  
He walks over, meeting your eyes steadily, holding out the mug in his hand. “Tell me. Do you think we’re in one now?”  
  
You take it from his hands. The scent of chamomile, which you now recognize, hits you in a gentle, subtle wave. The warmth beneath your fingers diffuses slowly underneath your gloves. The last few shudders in your legs subside, and you look up at him, and his pupils twitch in _just_ the right way, the way that only something real could.  
  
You let out the breath you’ve been holding and say, “I don’t think so.”  
  
For the rest of your visit, the mug stays shattered on the floor.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love y'all. Sorry I'm so bad at responding to comments, I read and love every one. I'm just a shy person. I'll do my best to respond to new ones, and I'll keep updating more frequently in the weeks to come!


	6. A Brief Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (No sex in this chapter, but I'm posting the next chapter as well to satisfy that, uh, absence.)

Return to Fifth (An Interlude)

-

“Our newest member, number thirteen!”

The woman had a small smile on her face, but it did not reach anywhere close to her eyes. She smelled of burning ozone, and her blonde hair was standing slightly on end at two points towards the back of her head, a light crackle in the air every time she ran her hand across her scalp.

(You weren’t a genius, but you had a pretty good guess as to what her powers were already.)

From across the room, Xemnas waved a hand, and the other members took this as their cue to stand up and approach her, offering their congratulations. It had been a quick meeting, met with surprisingly little fanfare. The newest member had apparently been on the radar for a while, surviving on a nearby world as she was observed by a few senior members. Apparently she was a heartless destroying machine. From the looks of her, heartless weren’t the only thing that she could probably stomp out under her heel.

You noted that new hires to this Organization were announced in the same underwhelming manner; your first day had consisted of an equally quick introduction, and equally metered conversations with the few members that felt kind enough to give you guidance. 

This, however… felt different. Maybe it was the number thirteen. Unlucky superstition and all that, but something about the newest recruit made you uneasy. Maybe it was the fact that she seemed like the person that wouldn’t just stop at her enemies. From the whispers of the others, there was a cruelty about her that impressed them, but… 

You saw Marluxia saunter over to her, hold out a hand, and say something under his breath.

The new girl laughed, and you saw her eyes crinkle.

“Interesting choices being made,” said a voice from beside you.

You glanced over your shoulder. Lexaeus, the unusually quiet man with bronze hair, had his arms crossed and his eyes focused on the two. His mouth was often set in a line, but now held a more distinct turn downwards at its corners. 

“You don’t like her?” you asked.

“No, I...” He took a breath. “Forgive me. I was giving into the bad habit of thinking aloud.”

He gave you a firm nod, then turned to leave the room.

But your curiosity had already been piqued. Lexaeus was never the chattiest of the bunch – in fact, you could say with confidence that he had never offered more than a sentence or two at any meeting, and much less to you personally. So why that little aside? Was he attempting to tell you something? Or, more importantly, was he also feeling uneasy?

Before you were able to process your actions, you jumped to follow him out of the room. The hustle and bustle of introductions was quickly left behind you; instead, you fell into pace behind the towering giant, listening as your footsteps echoed throughout the empty hallways. He glanced at you over his shoulder, jerked his chin towards another hallway, and said nothing as you continued following in his footsteps.

Left, right, a quick turn up a flight of stairs – you realized you were being led towards the Naught’s Approach, a stretch of stairway that creeped outside towards Xemnas’s quarters in the towers above. You wondered why this was his destination – wasn’t Xemnas down below, greeting the newest recruit?

As if reading your thoughts, Lexaeus halted. He looked over one shoulder at you, then turned back to face the path. 

“No one here now,” he said. “And likely no one will be, for some time.”

With a heaving sigh, he shifted against a wall, leaning against his back. A gloved hand met his chin, his brow furrowed in thought – it was a thinking pose to end all thinking poses. The chill in the air hung still and quiet around you both, but the silence confirmed his words: you were alone, and you could speak freely.

“Do you want this to be a private conversation?” you asked, settling against the wall beside him. You had to tilt your chin up dramatically to meet his eyes, and when you did, you saw in them something close to concern. 

“There are no private conversations in this organization,” Lexaeus replied. “But we can attempt to ensure that if we are heard, it is hopefully by the right people.”

“The right people,” you repeated. “That includes Xemnas?”

Lexaeus glanced towards the ascending staircase; a few meters away stood the door that would lead up to the Superior’s chambers. Approaching it always filled you with a sense of odd anticipation – or maybe it was dread, filtered through that Nobody screen that shrouded your old emotions. 

“I think… there’s something odd about everything that goes on here,” you said. “I haven’t been able to figure it out yet, but something about today made me feel uneasy.”

He nodded, slowly, ponderously. It was nice to know it wasn’t just you, but it was almost equally disconcerting to know that the calm man standing before you also felt an inkling of something… wrong. 

“There is an air of mystery to adding new people into our ranks,” Lexaeus began. “There always has been. Especially when those of us around since the beginning have no say in it.”

Number five, you recalled. Lexaeus was number five here. He must certainly have been around for a long time, if he claims to have seen the beginning of all this. 

“Did Xemnas hire you in a similar way?” 

Suddenly, Lexaeus laughed – a gruff, sudden sound that made you jump a little in the eerie quiet. 

“Hired would be… an interesting word for what happened. But no. We founded this group many years ago, and we are aiming to continue it to finish our mission. Which means we cannot turn on each other, even when outside forces begin to tempt us.”

Our mission, you thought. Complete Kingdom Hearts. Collect as many hearts as possible from the dark little creatures in the night and send them upwards, gathering into that giant amorphous moon in the sky. So much of your time lately has been devoted to missions that aim to complete that moon – to create the opportunity to gain your hearts back and be… something you once were, again. 

Fighting for a return. Fighting for a possible second chance. 

“With every new person we bring to the table, there is a new heart we must recreate,” Lexaeus said slowly. “With every sword that rises up to fight for us, there are hundreds of creatures that now must be slain in order to bring us all the same reward. At first we expanded because we had to – we could not fight the Heartless with just six of us. But now, with thirteen…”

Lexaeus breathed in deeply. “Maybe there is something else at play. Maybe… I am not being told everything anymore.”

A chill began at the nape of your neck, worse than that of the outside air around you, running quickly down your spine and into the absolute pit of your stomach. First wrestling with the Xigbar situation, and now this? Even more whispering behind the scenes, even more things that seemed to happen in the dead of night. 

How ironic, you thought, that the member who spoke so rarely was now saying a plethora of words that made you feel sick. 

“I do not know who conspires, but I do know that conspiracy runs deep in any group seeking a common goal, no matter how united. Believe me,” he sighed, “I know that well.”

“But if you’re worried, why not ask Xemnas directly?” you asked. “If he really did begin this organization with you, he’d tell you if something’s going on, right?”

“I will ask,” Lexaeus said, “sometime soon, and hopefully my worries will die at that. But for now… let us enjoy a moment of respite. I have a feeling the new member will be a nuisance, and peace will become a rare indulgence.”

His words came a moment too late. The sound of footsteps suddenly reached your ears, becoming steadily louder behind you; turning, you saw two figures standing at the base of the staircase, having just entered from the wide white doorway.

Xemnas, on the left, walked right on by, not turning to look at either of you as he passed, nearly floating up the stairs in silence.

Saix, on the right, stopped in front of you, giving you his signature scornful frown.

“Making your rounds, are you?” he said curtly. Before you could answer, he was already off, trailing behind Xemnas’s ethereal stride. 

“Those two, attached at the hip,” you said under your breath. “I wonder if the stick up Saix’s ass has been Xemnas all along.”

For the second time that day, Lexaeus laughed. The tense worry of the moment before was broken, and you both settled into silence as you looked out across the sky– full of worlds, full of stars, full of emptiness, but at the very least, full of peace. 

For now. 

-


	7. Employee Retention (You/Saix)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or, brutal Saix fucking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all, this chapter gets... a little gross? 
> 
> Also, I have adjusted a few things throughout to make things work with the overall timeline of the KH series. I know how important canon activities are to our hardcore porn, but seriously, I changed a few numbers, so hopefully it's not too distracting. 
> 
> Thanks,  
> K

"So I hear you're the one to go to if I need an easy fuck."  
  
You blink.  
  
"Oh, don't play coy," the blue-haired man nearly spat out, knuckles white on the doorframe. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. Now open the door and _let me in_."  
  
You hesitate, and in your opinion, with very good reason.  
  
On one hand, the man standing at your door was the biggest prick you had met so far since joining this Organization. Curt, cold, a thousand other words to describe someone who seemed to have a blanket hatred for everyone he came across, Saix was not someone you had any interest in from the get-go. There was a reason you had avoided encounters with him at all cost; even grabbing your mission log in the morning was an exercise in defending yourself from his barbed tone.  
  
But on the other hand...  
  
It had been three weeks since the incident report, and a little over a few days since Larxene (the new number thirteen) had joined the team. Your previous meeting with Zexion had been fun, but ridiculously cerebral. You may have visited another time... or two... or possibly three since then, really, if only to make sure you really enjoyed exploring your own inner psyche. After that, however, you find yourself completely sated when it came to nuance.  
  
Something hard and fast, though... that might be the exact reset your system needs. While your worries about conspiracy still brushed at the back of your mind, you had little doubt that Saix was the single most loyal member of the Organization, so he might oddly be the safest bet of the bunch to get your _weekly exercise_.  
  
But again. Biggest prick in the whole Organization.  
  
(Hopefully literally? a voice in the back of your mind stirs.)  
  
You sigh before opening the door a little wider. Saix takes the opportunity and quickly pushes past you into your room. His eyes linger on the bed for a long, drawn moment before he turns and scans the rest of the room, item by item, as if appraising them. You’re happy you mustered up the energy to clean earlier in the week. The last thing you’d want right about now would be some snide remark about the state of your personal quarters.

“It’s smaller than the others,” he comments drily. “I can only suppose the Superior didn’t want to waste assets on a less competent operative.”  
  
You roll your eyes. “Ouch. That one hurt.”  
  
“You aren’t hurting nearly enough yet to complain, believe me.”  
  
“As if I’m giving you the chance,” you say, equally dry.  
  
The air between the two of you thickens; the expression on his face is a few shades short of disgust. You imagine you weren’t the first person who Saix has disliked in this Organization. However, in this exact moment, you definitely felt like the one he disliked the most. All the more confusing as to why he was standing here now, his blue hair pulled back in a sharp ponytail and his hands balled into fists. It seemed… oddly out of character.  
  
“Vitriol doesn’t always translate into charm, you know,” you tell him. You didn’t mention that you had only just learned the word vitriol (thanks Zexion), but you were pretty sure it fit the situation.  
  
“And charm doesn’t always translate to usefulness,” he says.  
  
“You seem pretty interested in using me.”  
  
He scoffs. “At least you’re aware this has nothing to do with _feelings_.”  
  
“I thought we didn’t have those anyways,” you say, pulling down the zipper of your coat a little. Today was a commando day, so you can immediately see the way he grits his teeth when he sees the bare skin of your chest. “So are we doing this, or what?”  
  
He pauses, and you swear you can catch him looking taken aback under that disgusted mask of an expression. “Are you being serious?”  
  
“Possibly.” You can’t blame him. You’re pretty surprised at yourself here, but the momentum of your curiosity was taking you forward in a rush, and you didn’t feel like slowing it down. “Though, to be honest, I’d like to know why first.”  
  
“It’s...” Saix seems to be having difficulty finding his words, a very uncharacteristic thing for him. “Lunar.”  
  
Something floats up in your mind, a conversation with some faceless Nobody, it had been long enough since your first few days to forget exactly who it was. “The Luna Diviner,” they had said, pointing to Saix as he stood by the window, underneath the glow of the jagged moon in the sky. It was a list of names and titles, ones that weren’t important to you then, but now...  
  
Now that you had a point of reference, you begin seeing all the things that were different today. His eyes, slightly more orange and glowing. His teeth extending over his lips in points that seemed sharper than usual. A sort of... growl, every time he breathed out, a guttural sound that came from somewhere deep within his chest.  
  
You put a few pieces together.  
  
“Are you... turning into a werewolf or something?”  
  
“ _NO_.”  
  
If his tone hadn’t been so deeply pointed, you would’ve died laughing.  
  
“No,” he repeated firmly, running his tongue over one of the aforementioned fangs. “It’s a side effect of my powers as a Nobody. Sometimes it becomes difficult to keep them in check at certain times, and I need a quick release of energy to stave them off.”  
  
“So what do you normally do?”  
  
“Train,” he says tersely. “Extra missions. Rip apart a few Heartless with my hands.”  
  
“Ever tried just jacking off?”  
  
“It’s more complex than that,” he hisses. “And I’m not here for advice. I’m here for a given. So are you giving, or not?”

You held your breath for a moment, considering your options. Still the same prick as always, you realized, and there wasn’t any amount of fucking that would change that. But…

There was something oddly saccharine about the idea of fucking the man who hated you the most in this Organization. Having him come to you for relief, sinking down to your level. So many snide comments, so many disgusted glances – now he had no reason to talk. If he really is honest about his powers being too much for him to control alone, you’d have some leverage over him, being the one who could help him keep them in check.

Plus, of all the members, wasn’t he the one that would probably fuck you hard enough to put you on your ass for a few days?

You shiver at the thought. Those teeth looked… well…

“You said this is going to hurt?” you say, fiddling with the zipper to your cloak as it sits just above your stomach.

“Do you really think I’m the type to play nice?”

It must have been a trick of the light, but you could swear you just saw Saix’s breath come out in a whitish mist. Whatever he was dealing with, it seemed to be getting worse.

“I’m… just making sure I know what I’m getting into,” you murmur. “You could really make this a lot easier if you just told me what to expect.”

Saix exhaled. “I won’t kill you. Worthless as you are, you still have a place in our Organization, and I will keep myself from displeasing our Superior. But…”

He takes a step toward you, and you flinch before you can steel yourself.

“I will likely be prone to acting on instinct. So if you’re looking for someone to romance you and treat you like a princess, well, there’s nine other people down the hall who are weak enough to do it. And I’ll…”

His eyes screw upwards. “I’ll owe you a favor, I suppose.”

_Ding ding ding._

Fangs. Hands. The glowing eyes. All of those features are fuzzy now that you know you’ll come out of the other side with a small favor under your belt. I mean, how bad could he really be? He won’t kill you… he won’t kill you…

Somehow that does little to calm the sudden thundering of your blood as you realize _you’re going to agree to this_.

Fangs. Hands. The glowing eyes.

“Okay,” you say. “As long as you don’t kill-,”

He’s a blur of blue before you can be cognizant of what is about to hit you.

Your arms don’t have enough time to brace themselves as you fly backwards, spine slamming into the hard marble wall as Saix crushes you into the wall. You had heard people talk about his strength and speed, but that was nothing comparing to seeing it – and feeling it – firsthand, an absolute bullet of force as he pushes against you. The cloak around him dissipates, tendrils of black spiraling upwards as they curl away from his now naked body- _I didn’t know we could do that, how convenient_ , you think to yourself for a moment, before-  
  
Time stops as Saix leans down and runs his tongue over your neck. Warning bells are going off in your head when you feel the razor-sharp teeth on the skin there, pushing dangerously close to the rushing veins beneath. He feels you tense up under his hands, which makes his own grip on you all the more tight and unrelenting.

“Scared?” he says into your collarbone. You swear his voice has jumped an octave down, and it’s dripping with contempt.  
  
You steady yourself, push him back a few inches, and spit in his face.  
  
It hits the X perfectly.  
  
Before you can react, you are on the ground, wrestling, a tangle of limbs as he tries to claw into you, and you doing your best to claw right back. He attempts to pin your arms, and gets one down successfully- the other you manage to wriggle away and use it to shove him hard, a hard jab underneath his ribs, then a punch square to his jaw.  

He howls, and you realize that the werewolf suggestion was not far off, oh, not at all, and that is absolutely terrifying.  
  
You roll across the floor, and he rolls with you, both of you attempting to gain purchase on the other. Finally, you manage to swing both legs around him, knees on either side of his torso, your full weight pinning him to the ground.

“Let me at least start this,” you gasp as he twists his hands into the cloak, dragging you down hard enough to feel him ram against the spot between your legs. Despite his iron grip, you manage to slip the rest of the cloak over your head, leaving you naked on top of the snarling man beneath you. Finally, your skin meets his, and for the first time, you have a moment to look downwards.

Holy… shit.

This was going to hurt, regardless of how gentle he was.

But Saix isn’t patient enough to let you waste your time just looking. You feel the wetness of his head as it slides between your legs, dragging roughly over your thighs. He’s thick, and part of you feels like pulling away as you feel him pushing against you, into you, just past the entrance – the feeling of sudden searing pain as your body tries to fit him inside, only lessening when every inch is forced as deep as it can go, and you’re taking all of it.  

Just one moment to adjust.

Just one moment to _breathe_.

And then drawing out, and slamming back upwards, Saix begins a brutal series of thrusts inside you, one right after the other, that same feeling of being stretched over and over again – your body feels like it cannot keep up, that each one pushes past that same tightness into an ache that feels fresh every time he drives his way into you. It hurts in the deepest parts of your body, a stinging that causes your knees to shake and your mouth to nearly let out a string of the worst curses you know.

Between each thrust into you, he runs his hands down your back, and you feel his nails carving into the skin there – a moment later, and there’s the telltale warmth and wetness of blood that wells up, slicking his grip. You hold in a shout, but he doesn’t give you a moment to protest- instead moving down to your hips and forcing your legs open wider to make his cock stretch you even more, bucking into you at a pace that’s growing obscenely faster with every push.

It’s too much, you need to get control over this situation, but how –  how can you gain control over something like this, something that feels so _fucking unstoppable_ –

You look down at the man, no, the feral _thing_ that’s looking up at you, his hair disheveled, his teeth bared in a savage grin, his orange eyes rolled up in absolute bliss – holy fuck, was he _enjoying_ this?

In that moment, you feel a rush of joy, of something that tastes like _victory_.

“Down, boy,” you hiss, wrapping both hands around his neck and squeezing hard enough to feel your knuckles pop as you lean back and sink inch after inch of him inside you, riding him in a brutally painful rhythm that brings a scream out of both of your throats in the same moment—  
  
-  
  
Meanwhile, down the hall, Marluxia looked up from the bag of mulch he was spreading liberally over one corner of his bedroom.  
  
“Are those fools sparring during quiet hours again?”  
  
-  
  
In a flash, the moment of power you have is over – Saix is flipping you onto your hands and knees and he ruts into you without nearly a second of reprieve. No longer able to see his face, his fucking becomes somehow even more impersonal and rough – this must be what it feels like to be strapped to a fucking machine, just the same brutal rhythm between your legs over and over, no way to pull back and find a little mercy, but only the promise of another hard series of thrusts that seemingly never end – and then –  

-

“Honestly, I told them it makes it so much more difficult to raise some of the more delicate creatures here. No consideration, none at all.”

-

His teeth, dragging along the place between your neck and shoulder, breaking the skin, and the wetness is dripping down onto the floor beneath you – you look and see for first time that Nobody blood is just as red as any other creature’s–  
  
-  
  
“The hydrangeas are practically on death’s door, and don’t get me started on the roses, Larxene, they’re nearly wilted from all the stress... but, no matter, we should talk about the task at hand…”  
  
-

Saix’s thrusts are erratic and painful now, punishing you into the floor. Your body is beginning to crumple under his weight, every joint growing sore. How long is he planning to hurt you like this? It feels like he’s been fucking into you for hours without a break, and you begin to feel afraid that he’ll do this to you for days, locked in your room with your legs spread wide–

“Stay – right – there,” you hear him grunt, one hand reaching under your hips to flatten itself against your lower abdomen, pushing sharply upwards – this makes everything feel tighter again, like he’s squeezing your body as tightly as possible around his cock. The angle is perfect, and with a few more thrusts you feel a wave of something coming over you, not the usual rush of an orgasm, but instead a series of steady shakes that overwhelm you, clenching around him,  until your mind is a hazy cloud of bliss that dulls the pain for just a moment—

He pulls out, and suddenly you feel something warm splash across your back, dripping into the long scrapes and fuck, _it burns_ \- “fuck,” you hiss, “fuck, fuck!” and you writhe to get away, but another gush of something drips down onto you and the burning pain increases–  
  
He’s laughing now, an unrestrained laugh, and you turn and see something maniacal in his eyes, and something about that in turn makes you realize something else with a resounding crash.

_Nobodies must have feelings._

There is no explanation otherwise. There is no reason to believe what Xemnas says anymore. With each throb of pain that runs down your skin, you realize that creatures without feelings _don’t do things like this_ , don’t revel in sadism or anger or lust. Animals had brutality, but this was… so human, so viscerally human, so humiliating, so painful, so _alive_. How could you ever consider yourself to be something without emotions when this alone proves so much the opposite?

That is the last thought you have before your head hits the ground and your vision goes white. The echoes of Saix’s laughter follows you, deep into your dreams, ones that you will never remember, but ones that will hold the feelings you now knew were truly yours, of pain, suffering, joy, and finally,

nothing.  

-

One hour later

-

The sound of a door shutting nearly wakes you, but it does not break through the fog of sleep.

-

Two hours later

-

Your eyes creak open.

It’s night time, and the clouds are rapidly dissipating from your mind, and the world is beginning to swim back into focus. With a croaked yawn, you sit up and –

 ** _FUCK_**.

You immediately lay back down again on the floor.

 _Fuck. Fuck_. Could you walk? Oh fuck, you don’t think you can walk.

In a rush, everything comes back, both in mental and physical memory. Breathing itself is like a stabbing pain in your lower abdomen; even the act of craning your neck to check that your door has been closed is an act of pure torture, the ache between your shoulder and your neck growing worse as the skin stretches over whatever wound Saix left you with.

 _At least_ … you thought to yourself, _he closed the door on the way out. So no one sees me like_ …

The floor is tacky beneath you. You don’t want to look down. You imagine it’s not a pretty sight, and you don’t want to feed the sickening pit that’s beginning to worm its way into your stomach.

The good news is that the pain comes with another side of exhaustion; it would be easy to fall asleep again, if you want to. And boy, do you want to.

 _The floor… will do for now_.

You find the strength to curl up on your side, gingerly pulling your rumpled cloak closer to you to nestle it under your head. It is a thin, poor excuse of a pillow, but in this moment, it seems to rival the plushest of feathers. Over time, the thoughts and pain vanish as you return to the escape of sleep, one of the few escapes a Nobody was allowed to have here in the Castle That Never Was.

The next awakening would hurt less. Or so, at least, you hoped.

-

 


	8. Paid Time Off (You/Axel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your first day-off involves a little TLC with Axel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the brief hiatus, y'all - I took on a major freelance writing job this year, and sadly 80 hours of writing a week will put fanfic on the low priority list. Now that I'm done with extra work, I can focus on writing that smutty, smutty good stuff for ya. Thanks for the love, and now, enjoy!

 -

The day began with a sore back and some unexpected words.

“You’re taking a day off.”

Your hand was still reaching towards the mission folder that was routinely handed to you each morning. You could see it filled with papers on your most recent assignment in Twilight Town – and  yet, it was now being held just slightly out of reach. In spite of it all, you tried your best not to look incredulous.

“That’s a thing we do here?”

“We’re not savages,” Saix said, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “You’re allowed to take a day off after a particularly _strenuous_ mission.”

Your eyes shot down to the floor, but your ears and cheeks already felt like they were burning. Among other, more sensitive things. Luckily the nearby Organization members seemed too busy leafing through their own mission files to notice your reaction.

As if they could even _suspect_ what had happened the previous night. You would probably have had to concoct some story about fighting a werewolf in Halloween town, and losing. That would be a slightly more believable story than the truth.

(The scratch marks down your back might give it some credibility, you think to yourself.)

The soreness was omnipresent that morning. Any piece of skin shifting too quickly over bone brought its own twinge of pain and regret, at varying intensities. But it wasn’t what you wanted to think about now – no, not when Saix was giving you an out that you desperately needed to take. Dealing with the pain could come later. Getting away from future pain, well, that would take precedence.

“Thank you,” you replied in a level voice. “I will plan to complete the mission tomorrow, instead.”

Saix nodded to you, tucking the folder back under his arm. You could’ve sworn he smiled, but it was far from a friendly or welcome one. In fact, the mere fact of seeing someone like Saix smile made the hair on your arms stand on end almost by instinct. A perfect signal for a swift retreat.

Quickly, you turned and began a brisk walk back to your quarters. A glance or two from the other members, particularly Axel, followed you on the way out. _Pay them no mind_ , you chanted to yourself. _A warm bed and some quality rest is on the horizon_.

And with that, your first full day off in your employment with the Organization began— sudden, wanted, and wincing.

-

The halls of the World That Never Was have an unmistakable air of loneliness to them. Even when passing another being, it’s almost as if you are both walking through parallel dimensions—where you can still see and hear them, and they may still see and hear you, but you can never quite touch each other on the same plane of existence. A hollow hallway between the rooms, a hollow hallway between hearts.

Today you felt that disconnect more than ever. The castle was empty, or at least it truly felt like it was. You supposed that Xemnas was still lingering somewhere nearby, probably in the highest tower, staring at the sky (his main pastime, of course, so it was a safe assumption to make). But the other members had filtered out to finish their daily assignments, leaving you make the only footsteps that echoed through the vacant space.

The silence asked questions, too. Ones that were impossible to distract yourself from, despite all efforts.

_Was this necessarily what you had signed up for?_

_Was this a path that leads you somewhere you want to be?_

If your intuition is correct, and Nobodies have feelings, then what even would be the point of staying with the Organization? Why chase something that you may already have? Everyone else seems to believe that they, as Nobodies, have lost their emotions entirely. Even Saix, who has shown himself to be surprisingly… emotive lately. What sort of farce could Saix be participating in, pretending like nothing was occurring in his guts? Or is he genuinely so would up that he can’t recognize that hate is a feeling like any other?

Another wince, this time not from a twinge of pain, but rather a twinge of fear.

_Should I talk to him and ask if he felt anything, too?_

_Would he laugh at me? Would he tell Xemnas?_

Imagine the look on the Superior’s face. Insubordination would be the least of your worries. He would probably turn you into a Dusk, where you would have to live a long life of having no opposable thumbs and little charm.

_But then again… what if he listens to me? Believes me?_

_What if Saix realizes what I’ve realized?_

_Oh god._

_What if he wants to try it_ again _, just to make sure?_

“Hey! Newbie!”

And the questions are dashed on the rocks of those words as you realize the Castle is not entirely empty at all.

-

To put it simply, Axel is an enigma that you have not been able to solve at the present time.

A list of adjectives that describe him could be limited to the following:

And that was it. Nice, yet somehow still an asshole. He greeted you warmly in the mornings, but he also teased you mercilessly if you got stuck halfway through a portal of darkness. He invited you to spar a time or two to really train up your reaction times, but he also ducked out of missions early to get snacks from nearby food stalls. He was inconsistent, unmanageable, and seemingly allergic to following rules. Easy to enjoy the company of, easy to be frustrated by.

So seeing him at the end of the hallway now, one hand cocked on his hip and the other waving you down, you realize the futility of asking him why he is here, rather than running about on a mission to Twilight Town or Agrabah. There is simply no point. Axel does what he wants, and it seems that today, he wants to be here in the Castle.

You walk up to him. Rather, you shamble— the fatigue in your legs is increasing dramatically, and your plan to fall into bed solidifies all the more in your head.

“A day off, huh?” he says once you reach him, eyebrow quirked. “You must have really pulled off something big on your mission, if ol’ stick-up-his-ass let you out early.”

You shrug. “Yeah, it was pretty… hard.”

“So what was it? Heartless, locals?”

Er. “Nothing like that, actually. It was…” A lapse in judgment? A misplacement of trust? A series of terrible decisions in workplace ethics, that began either at the moment you let Saix into your room, or perhaps even earlier, when you first fell into Xigbar, or possibly even earlier, from the very point of your death onwards? “…an accident. Just a really, really bad accident.”

His eyes narrow, and you recognize the look on his face as one of concern. It was a welcome addition; you hadn’t seen that emotion too often since your employment here began. Most of your coworkers tended to shrug off any injury, since Nobodies seemed to have fairly quick recovery times.

“An accident… is that right?”

You feel a bit awkward, having to repeat yourself. “Yep, an accident.”

“Man,” he sighs, “they’re really doing a number on you here, aren’t they?”

Wordlessly, he reaches out and pulls down the collar of your coat an inch or two. You can’t deny that there are bruises visible there, covering your upper chest like a deep blue tattoo, peeking just over the black fabric.

“It’s… not as bad as it looks,” you try. But even the feeling of the fabric pulling over the marks is enough to cause you to wince again, making your attempt to keep stone-faced a complete and total failure.

“Don’t bullshit me,” he replies simply. “I can tell when someone’s okay, and you’re far from it. Come on, newbie. You’re getting a little TLC.”

“I’m fine-,” but before another bald-faced lie can make its way through your lips, he’s wrapping his arm around your waist, and you drop quickly through a pool of darkness that feels somehow slightly warmer than the usual, straight onto the cluttered floor of Vexen’s lab.

-

It is amazing how much a room can change depending on who is inside it.

Last time, here with Vexen, there was a chill that seemed to leak out of the very walls of the laboratory. Everything was clinical and oddly fluorescent. The stereotypical lab, you had thought to yourself, a mad scientist’s perfect playground.   

Here with Axel, however… it was like the room was lit by candles you couldn’t see. All that sterile weight that the lab had previously held melted away as he lowered you onto one of the few empty tables, turning to finger his way through the vials on Vexen’s shelves. It was like the man exuded warmth, and not just in the literal sense.

Maybe it was because out of all the members thus far, Axel had seemed the least likely to judge you. Sure, he ribbed you from time to time, in what seemed to be all in good fun. But from what you saw on his face as he leaned over a particularly bright yellow potion, he now looks genuinely worried. Like you were something, or someone, worth helping.

That worry was kind of comforting.

“Drink this first,” he says, handing the yellow potion over. You take a quick sip, noting that it was sour and lemony – exactly how you’d expect something that noxious of a color to taste. Almost immediately, some of the pain lessens from the more extreme wounds. A few sips later, and it has reduced some (but not all) of them to a dull, throbbing ache.

“Scale of one to ten,” he gestures to you from the neck down, “how’s it all feeling?”

You move your arms and legs a bit, feeling for anything terrible. It still smarts, sure, but it could be worse. “I’ll go for around a four. Maybe a five.”

He shakes his head. “Nope. That’s not good enough.”

Axel shuffles a few more bottles around until, finally, he finds a small pod of golden liquid hidden behind the other bottles. It practically glows in the palm of his hand, and as he uncorks it, you swear you can hear the way it shimmers, almost in a twinkling cascade of tiny bells.

“What is _that_?” you ask.

“A new elixir Vexen mention he’d been developing. Don’t worry, he tested it on Demyx last week, and it looks like he’s still in one piece. Take your cloak off.”

“Excuse me?”

Axel is already peeling off his gloves. “I’m going to have to work this stuff directly into the… the wounds. It won’t be pretty, but it definitely won’t be as bad as you doing it yourself.”

“Um…” Protests of various shapes and sizes pop into your head. Firstly, that you were in Vexen’s lab, where the good scientist could easily walk in at any moment and make some significant assumptions. Secondly, that taking off your coat had gotten you into a lot of messes, including the most current one.

“I’m not trying to be that guy,” he says, watching the gears in your head turn, “but I think this is pretty tame compared to what you, already, you know.” He does that thing that people do when miming blowjobs – moving his hand back and forth and sticking his tongue deep into his cheek.

You roll your eyes. And wince, because there’s a small nick by your eyebrow – fuck, how did Saix even get his nails all the way up there? And why does expressing your exasperation have to hurt, too?

But still, the man has a point. This is decidedly not that kind of situation, and you won’t even let it become that situation, either.

So your hands find the zipper of the cloak and shift it down your chest, baring the canvas of damaged skin underneath. Each mark seems to beget another – a trail that makes a pit stop at every region of your body, a map of accidents you probably should have been stopped in the moment. Luckily, you can only remember some of their origins, the others lost in the space your head went when Saix took complete control. And from what you can see, looking down briefly, Saix’s type of control led to unsightly bruises, cuts, and a few motley mixes of the two.

In short: it isn’t pretty, and you know it.

Axel’s gaze is fixed firmly on your torso, where some of the worst of it is concentrated. There’s a particularly nasty bruise that you can feel on the upper side of your chest, and it seems like his eyes aren’t leaving it. After a moment or two, you begin to feel that comfortable feeling fading away.

“I know, it’s pretty gross,” you say, beginning to shrug your cloak back upwards to cover yourself.

“What? Wait, no, I was,” he stammers, “that’s not what I, look, I was just… eugh.” He rubs his temples, closing his eyes. “I was just staring at your tits for a second, okay?”

“…Really?”

“Yeah, they’re nice. And distracting.”

“Oh.”

Almost subconsciously, you let the cloak fall the rest of the way from your body.

“There you go. Okay. Lay on your side, and I’ll figure out rest.”

You do as you’re told, settling down onto the cloak that is luckily a pretty good barrier between you and the chilly lab table. You are propped up on your elbow as he circles around you, working some of the elixir into his palms. With one leg, he kicks over a lab stool closer to the table, sits down on it, and surveys a spot to begin.  

“I’m not exactly sure why it’s easier for you to do this than me,” you say.

“Well, to put it bluntly, you have a lot of shit going down your back. You’d have to stretch pretty far to get all of it, and stretching might make it even worse.”

Touché. You remember Saix’s… I guess you could call them claws, raking their way down your back last night. You can only imagine what it looks like, much less what it would take to get that gold liquid wiped across every single one of them on your own.

“Plus, I have really, really warm hands.”

“Oh yea-,”

Before you can finish the thought, Axel puts his munny where his mouth is and runs a palm down your side. _Oh_.

You peek over your shoulder and see that his grin is of the shit-eating variety. “I wasn’t lying.”

“No. No you were not.” The side of your head hits the table as he continues to rub his hands into the same spot, a constant wave of deep warmth coursing down the muscles and skin at the area just above your tailbone. It goes so deep, it feels like your very bones might be getting a bit toasty. Not in a bad way, no – it’s every bit as relaxing as you could hope it would be, and then some.

You both grow silent for a bit as he continues his work. It takes him a few minutes, but he finishes covering your back with the shimmering, silky substance, and the pain is almost entirely numbed. Once that’s done, he gently pushes you to lie down on your back, giving him access to the damage across the front of your body. Your forearms get a solid kneading, then he moves up to your shoulders and collarbone. Where the bruises once ached, you feel each pass of his hands making them grow numb and warm, melting into a pleasant sort of nothingness.

“Lucky it was me off today, huh?” he comments. “Otherwise you’d have Vexen with his clammy mitts all up in your business.”

Pffft. “I don’t think he’s the type to be helpful. At least, not in that way.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” he says, his hands stopping at the base of your neck,  “I mean, I think this would be pretty hard for anyone to resist.”

The one thing that hadn’t been burning so far was your face. Not anymore.

“Oh?”

For a moment or two, Axel doesn’t reply. Then, hesitantly, he brings his hands a bit further downwards, resting them just above your chest.

“I’m going… to just trace these lightly, okay?”

You nod. Both of you take a deep breath at exactly the same time.

Like streaks of water, his fingertips drip down your chest, leaving trails of heat in their wake. It’s over in almost a moment – and yet you can’t deny that the warmth lingers much, much longer, even as his fingers begin working at a cut on your stomach.

You imagine what Vexen would see if he walked in right now. Two adults, furiously blushing at each other. One of them naked.

“Alright. Your legs are all that’s left, so I’ll just…”

He gets up off the lab stool and puts one knee between your legs, trying to get a better angle at the muscles on the back of your calves. His palms pressing into you, you feel the weight of the longest day of your life thus far being stripped out of your very muscles. What is the warmth you’re feeling, really? Sure, it might be Axel’s magical temperature-controlling fingers. But it might be the feeling of having hands on you that seem to be genuinely conscious of making you feel good. This is a surprisingly nice contract from feeling used, from feeling out of your depth or in over your head. Yes, it’s been an adventure, learning what the limits of your body can take. But has it been this long since you’ve just felt… taken care of by someone?

Axel must notice how this is affecting you, because he chuckles a little under his breath.

“Hey. Don’t enjoy this too much,” you say quickly, in a way that’s only half-convincing. “I think I might be a little too bruised up for anything fun today.”

“Not even if I do all the work?”

His fingertips are now doing lazy circles into your thighs. There’s a sudden change in the energy of the room as you look up and see his face, his emerald green eyes staring at you with an intense look that abandoned all the smugness you had seen earlier. Instead, it was just pure, pure wanting. One that you could feel from every bit of his gaze, his voice, and his touch.  

And looking at him like that, your legs open just an iota – just enough as you feel his fingers inching closer, closer to where you now realize your body would really them to be…

His hands pause on their journey. “Seriously. Only if you want me to,” he says.

You look down at him, six feet of slender muscle, his face glowing with a hint of red blush. He is definitely the type of fun you’d be happy to have, at almost any moment in time.

But after last night? After the bruises and scratches, the feeling of every inch of you being torn in two and put back together by the man in front of you? You’d hate to say it, but it’s hard to feel confident and sexy when you’ve barely been in one piece for 24 hours.

_Fuck me_.

“Not today,” you somehow find the strength to say. Curse your own maturity and these fucking bruises for keeping you away from this, but you know it’s the right answer as soon as it leaves your lips. “But sometime soon. Like, as soon as possible.”

His grin is back, and it washes away all the worry you just summoned up. “I get it, I get it. Really sexy rain check, though.”

He shifts upward to lean over you, his lips slowly pressing into yours. You feel dizzy with the heat, and it’s so calming and cozy – you think you could really let him do this for hours. You let him tug on your bottom lip with his teeth for a moment before opening your mouth fully, letting your tongues run along one another in a deep, smooth wave.

When he finally pulls away, you force yourself not to drag him back down on top of you. _Damn it. Damn it. Damn it all to hell._ You won’t be forgiving yourself for this anytime soon.

After a moment or two, your head stops spinning, and you take inventory of your bits. Everything feels fantastic, at least in comparison to before – where there are still some dull aches, you think that with a few hours of sleep and an easy mission or two, you’ll be back to where you were. Currently, though, your arms and legs feel like jelly. Likely it’s entirely this man’s fault.

“Carry me back to my room,” you tell Axel. “I can’t move. In a good way.”

“Seriously?” he laughs, almost looking a little self-satisfied as he looks down at you. “You’re acting pretty lazy for your day off. First I’m your masseuse, now I’m your chauffer.”

Despite the words coming out of his mouth, Axel doesn’t seem to hesitate in scooping you back up into his arms. He walks backwards through a portal of darkness, a surprisingly smooth move that gets you back in your room without much fuss. Gingerly, he puts you down onto the bed, where it feels like you’re floating on clouds (at least compared to the stiff slab of the table you had just left). This TLC thing? Pretty nice, you have to admit, though you weren’t planning on needing it again anytime soon.

He pulls the covers up over your body. “Actually get some rest, okay? I don’t want to hear that you, I dunno, went off to Xigbar’s room for a quickie or something.”

You thought you were too tired to laugh, but he just keeps proving you wrong. “I won’t, I promise. Way too comfortable and relaxed for that.”

“Good. Because man oh man, I’d hate to be jealous of _that_ guy.”

The last thing you see before he flicks off the lights is his smile, ever warm and ever taunting, and yet somehow it shone with a new brightness you had never seen in it before.

Your last thought before you drift off is this: you decide that you really, really want your next day off to spent with Axel, and likely no one else.

-

As the door swings shut behind Axel, another one further down the hall opens in tandem.

Axel does not have to look up to know who is approaching. In fact, he chooses not to, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on his hands. They are still glistening with a few remaining specks of gold. He manages to keep them from clenching as the figure finally reaches him, stopping just at his side.

“Thank you. For… fixing that for me.”

“I’ve seen you do some things, Isa, but that…” He grimaces. “That was some fucked up thing.”

“Believe me. She was willing.”

Axel looks up; his eyes go from wide in shock to narrowing into something much, much more aggressive. “Sure she was. But that doesn’t mean you should’ve… gone all out on her.”

Saix is silent.

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say? She looked like she was halfway to being a goddamn _corpse,_ Isa.”

“I scratched an itch and she scratched hers,” Saix says tersely, reaching out to put a hand on Axel’s arm. “Trust me, if I had any other choice, with these powers being what they-,”

Axel knocks Saix’s hand from his shoulder. “Get a grip. You got by just fine before she got here. I don’t know exactly what happened to us when we became these… these _things_. But you’re really starting to act different than the Isa _I_ knew.”

He spins on his heel and begins the walk back to his room. Axel’s hands are slightly shaking now, which he swears must be the aftereffects of the potion and not his urge to deck his friend in the jaw. Better to leave before he does something he really regrets, he thinks to himself.

Right as Axel is almost out of sight, Saix calls out, still in the same steady voice.

“I mean it, Lea. Thank you for your help.”

Axel pauses at the entrance to his room, not wanting to even look back at the face of his friend. “Y’know, normally, I’d say you’re welcome. But this time? I wasn’t doing it for you. And I better not have to do it again.”

_Click_. Once again, the two Nobodies are separated by a door that one of them has closed. Saix begins to wonder when they last talked for longer than a minute without one of them leaving the other in anger, or in sadness, or in resentment, or more recently, in some combination of all three.

-

 


End file.
